Hear Me Hodor!
by Cheese Time
Summary: Satirical parody humorous trollfic. Hodor is not really the Stark stable boy. In reality, he is the son of Tywin Lannister, who was forced to work in Winterfell his entire life. Now, the Lannisters have rescued their long lost brother, and returned him to his rightful home in Casterly Rock. But we all know the Lannisters' love for incest, and Hodor has his eager eyes on Jaime...
1. Family, Duty, Hodor

**The following story fits in completely with the plot of 'A Game Of Thrones'. Thousands of years of lore have been carefully considered, analysed, and accounted for. Hundreds of characters and their names, families and banners will come together to fill the rich background of this tale. Not a single historical or logical inconsistency will exist, that I can-**

**Forget that.**

**Take a single word of this story seriously. I fucking dare you.**

* * *

Jaime Lannister shook his head in disbelief, almost smiling at how ridiculous it all was. He'd hardly been able to do anything else the past couple hours, the news was so shocking. Just pondered it over again and again inside his glorious blond brain.

Hodor, the Starks' giant of a stable hand, was a Lannister.

It was surely damn difficult to believe, but that's what Tywin had said. They were all at Casterly Rock, even Cersei had been called from King's Landing because of the news. She was to take a break from fucking that fat oaf Robert, the king that Jaime was fairly sure he'd contracted something from, due to a family crisis. Tyrion was satisfied as usual with a couple whores, so he brought some willingly mobile ones with him to visit the Lannister home.

Tywin had gathered them all in his study, that strange old woman on his arm, saying that his wife was alive, saying that Joanna was with them again. And that she had a son, born from Tywin's seed.

Apparently this woman was his long lost wife, Jaime's mother. She'd smiled at him, teeth missing and patchy scalp. Hard to believe, but it had to be true, where else would Jaime and Cersei get their looks from if not this woman? Certainly not Tywin, that was for sure. She had a few wisps of white hair left on her head, but they could have easily been Lannister blonde in their day, so Tywin had explained.

The meddling Starks had kept her captive in their house for decades, since Tyrion's birth. They made her tell stories to their children. The younger ones called her 'Old Nan' which Tywin said was both insulting to the house, and a personal injustice to Joanna. Still looked as lovely as ever, with a few teeth gone and a couple score pounds added. Tywin had picked her up during a visit with the King to the Starks' place in the North, and had a romantic reunion the second he saw her with Bran Stark. That little boy was a metaphorical bastard, treating the Lady Joanna Lannister like a servant. Always scampering around, climbing up and watching things he shouldn't.

"Jaime?" he heard his father calling, and abruptly looked up from the bench on which he sat. All of them were gathered in Casterly Rock, but it was a big place, and Jaime had hoped he wouldn't have to talk to Tywin or his wife.

However, he was nestled in the Armoury, the most obvious place for a knight of his handsome calibre to be found, so find him his father did.

And brought Jaime's mother with him.

They marched into the extensively filled Armoury, Tywin giggling like a little child, and Joanna laughing with his arm wrapped around her shoulder.

"Yes, Father?" Jaime sighed. Joanna laughed some more, an old cackle, like the one a witch would produce.

"I would like you to say hello to your mother. Cersei and Tyrion have been very polite, and they came up the the mead hall to greet her when she came in, but you've been moping around here like a spoiled little boy."

"But-" Jaime started to protest.

"I know you love cleaning your armour, son, but family takes precedence."

Jaime was wearing his armour, as always. It was so golden, and shiny, he never wanted to take it off, ever.

"All right,"

"So share your greetings with my wife, then Jaime, lad,"

"Dad, I'm the Kingslayer, I don't need to be told what to do!" Jaime complained. Tywin looked at him with an impressively disapproving frown. Joanna, thankfully, just smiled at him kindly.

"Son." Tywin cautioned, not appreciating Jaime's tone.

Jaime let out a huffing sigh. "Fine. Mother, I am honoured to have you here at Casterly Rock. I hope you stay here for all eternity," Tywin looked at him scornfully, as if that statement wasn'tenough. As if that wasn't gracious enough for a mother he'd never known. "and," he looked upon Joanna's shrivelled face, her ancient, glazed eyes staring right into the murky depths of his soul. Jaime was glad he had his armour on to protect him from those eyes, "I hope that you have many more children in the years to come," he managed to spit out. Tywin smiled and clapped him on the back. Joanna just opened her mouth to grin, displaying a smile filled with missing teeth, and the ones that were there weren't pleasant. Tywin pulled her close and gave her a big, sloppy kiss. Jaime tried to look away, but somehow he was unable to. Either horrified or drawn in, and he hoped it was the former. They were using their tongues heavily now, and Jaime just hoped that Joanna didn't dislodge one of her teeth.

Wasn't there something Tywin had said, years ago, about Joanna dying giving birth to Tyrion?

Joanna started moaning, which was closer to a wheeze than anything else, and Jaime decided he didn't want to interrupt them to find out, and quickly left the armoury. He didn't even bother to pick up the armour polish he'd come down here to find on the way out.

Before he stepped out he caught one last glimpse of Tywin pushing Joanna against the wall, knocking over a set of jousting poles that were stacked against it.

Wisely, Jaime closed the door and ran away from the place as quickly as he could, armour jingling with every step. He ran all the way up to their grand dining hall, where Tywin mentioned that Tyrion would be. He needed to talk to Tyrion, needed to talk to anyone, needed to pour his feelings onto a sympathetic individual. Jaime felt a strange, overpowering urge to tell his friends the closest secrets of his heart, because this was Fanfiction, damnit! Not a real book, one with emotions!

He pushed the heavy doors of their big dining hall open, and looked upon the long tables that were strung out inside it. Five, with a large one across the top for the high-and-mighty lords to look down at the peasants upon. That was the point of it, right?

Music flowed from the side of the room, but Jaime was used to that. Tywin hired some bards to play 'The Rains Of Castamere' constantly on a loop over and over again in their dining hall. It drove the guests insane, but the Lannister children had learned to block it out of their heads over the years. They even did it when no one was in the room, as Jaime had often walked past to hear 'And so he spoke, and so he spoke...' drifting out of the window to the floors above. Often the voices of the singers started to wear down, and they had to replace them quickly.

The Lannisters had fucktons of money, and Jaime figured this wasn't the House's worst expenditure.

The bard and lutist beside him finished a particularly off-key rendition, and began the song again.

"_And who are you, the proud_-"

"Jaime?" a familiar voice tugged at his ears, and he noticed Tyrion sitting at the near table, drink in hand. Instantly, he searched the area for immediate whores, but seemed to find a lack of any. Cersei was sitting across the table, looking disgusted by her brother's drinking. He might have failed in his search for whores a second ago, then. Her face lit up, however, when she noticed Jaime standing in the doorway. As it damn well should have. Jaime strode towards them, and leaned over to rest his hands on the table.

"Hodor..." Jaime breathed, shaking his head, "who would have thought?"

"Well, who did you expect it to be?" Tyrion said, delving deeper into the drink.

"Not a fucking giant who's been shoveling dung for the Starks his whole life!" Cersei shrieked, going near hysterical.

"Be careful what you say, Cersei," Tyrion cautioned.

"What? You going to tell him?" Cersei snapped "I doubt that-" she screamed, a shrill sound Jaime was used to hearing, but in far, far better circumstances.

A large, hairy hand placed itself on Cersei's shoulder, more than half the size of her head. The fingernails were broken and unclipped. The arm led up to a hulking shoulder, far above their height, and onto a giant, pudgy, ugly face. One that was grinning wildly like the feral things north of the Wall.

"Hodor." said Hodor. Cersei screamed again, then spoke.

"Were you here, the entire time we've been talking?" she addressed Hodor.

"Hodor," said Hodor. That seemed to answer things. Cersei put an exasperated palm to her head.

"He must have the blood of the giant!" Jaime exclaimed.

"Hel-lo!" Tyrion said from his chair, pointing towards himself, still only just tall enough to reach the table. "Do I have the blood of a giant, brother?"

"Point taken," Jaime admitted, staring at Hodor. The overweight, oversized, over brawny man stared straight back, smiling as if it were the greatest day in his life. The bastard had just come from shoveling dung all the way to the great citadel of Casterly Rock, of course it was the greatest day of his bloody life!

"Do you understand what he's talking about?" Jaime whispered to Tyrion, hoping that Hodor couldn't hear.

"Hodor!" Hodor said.

"Can't tell a damn thing the man is saying!" Cersei raged.

"Isn't it obvious?" Tyrion jested.

"What?" Cersei snapped.

"He's saying, 'Hodor'." Tyrion laughed. Jaime grabbed one of the chairs at the table and sat down exhaustedly, knowing well he would be more exhausted the more Hodoring that went on. He managed to sit easily, despite the glorious golden armour that he wore, in fact, it made sitting a lot more comfortable.

"Hodor." Hodor said, pointing to Jaime's armour.

"Mine!" Jaime barked, scooting his chair away from the grubby, reaching hand.

They sat there for a while, mostly in silence, but for the sound of Tyrion's excessive drinking, Cersei's massive sighs, Hodor's occasional outbreaks of 'Hodor' and the torrent of _Castamere_ that was becoming an increasing effort for the bard to sing by the time he reached the twentieth time or so.

It never occurred to ask the musicians to play something different, but Jaime thought about asking them now, just to break the awkwardness that seeped over the Lannister children. But then the bard got to the '_Coat of Gold_' part again, and Jaime realised that it was just too catchy to stop.

Eventually, Jaime ended up nudging Tyrion to move things along. The dwarf spilled some of his newly refilled wine over the table.

"Oy!" he exclaimed, wiping the drips off the glass with his hand, "I was going to drink that!"

"What a surprise," Cersei yammered back, picking at her immaculately clean fingernails, probably trying not to think about the state of Hodor's.

"Tyrion..." Jaime started uncertainly.

"What?"

"Do we have any worthy wenches in the Rock for Ser Hodor?" he asked.

"Come again?"

"Women of questionable virtue who might show interest in our new brother. Show him that he's welcome?" Jaime tried to explain. Cersei shot him a look filled with daggers once she caught the meaning. Tyrion nodded his approval. Anything to get them out of sitting here a moment longer, Jaime needed to get back to polishing his armour.

"Why would you ask me for that, of all people?" Tyrion said.

Cersei did the closest equivalent that a respectable lady could to snorting. It sounded like a polite little sneeze, but Jaime knew her too well. Plus, she snored in exactly the same tone. Jaime just looked at Tyrion, not saying a word. The Imp shrugged.

"All right, Jaime," he pushed the chair away from the long table and hopped off it, now closer to the ground than he had been sitting. "Come on, Hodor. I might have someone entertainment in the kitchens, somewhere on the Rock at least." he motioned for Hodor to stand up, and stand he did, in a flurry of gargantuan movement, knocking the heavy table violently towards Cersei as he stood up, sending all of Tyrion's drinking equipment flying into the air faster than even a Fus Roh Dah could carry it.

Giant and dwarf left, dwarf looking more than a little nervous about the lumbering Hodor stepping on top of him by accident. When they were gone, Cersei turned conspiratorially towards Jaime. She didn't really turn towards people in any other way. Right in the middle of '_and mine are long, and sharp-_'

"You know what this means, don't you?" she asked him. Jaime would have shrugged, but the armour prevented it, a con that he was perfectly willing to put up with. But then it struck him.

"Hodor isn't... heir, is he? He's not older than-"

"No! He was born after Tyrion, didn't you listen when Mother told us what happened to her?" so Cersei had already accepted them both as family.

Jaime breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank the gods, imagine if he was. Hodor, lord of House Lannister, the Lion of Casterly Rock."

"We must have giant blood in us, Jaime!"

"We already have dwarf blood," Jaime pointed out. Somehow, to Cersei, it didn't seem like the same thing.

"Listen, think about all the things Mother told us about her life for the past few decades. She was captured by the Starks. Forced to be their prisoner and look after their children, our poor brother Hodor cleaned the horse latrines for them."

Jaime saw what she meant. The Starks holding a Lannister captive against her will, forcing them both to do menial work? The prospect was scandalous, absolutely outrageous.

"Mother was made to tell their children stories and teach them needlework. They even referred to her as 'Old Nan'."

"I understand, Cersei. We will have quite a dispute with the Starks next time we head to Winterfell."

"It's bigger than that, Jaime! This could end up in a house war!" she growled and clenched her fists until they went white. "I just want to line up all those damn Stark children that forced our gracious mother to work like a slave, and push them out of one of their high Winterfell tower windows."

"That's a little specific, Cersei. Besides, we shouldn't push them off a window, they could survive, albeit with some amnesia. Eventually they could recall our attempts at murder and tell their parents." should just kill them with a knife straight off, that would do it better than pushing the child out a window. But Cersei wasn't the Kingslayer, she didn't know how to get rid of peeping children as easily as Jaime.

Cersei's rage stopped, and she just seemed to despair.

"We'll have to cease all dealings with the Starks," she gazed around the hall thoughtfully, staring beyond the bards she appeared to be looking at. "Joff isn't going to be pleased, we'll end his engagement with the oldest daughter. He'll be so upset, might demand they marry nonetheless."

"Who gives a single raging fuck for what prince Joffrey wants?" Jaime asked. Honestly, it was a question he wanted answered, not an exclamation. Find him one person in the entire fandom who would like Joffrey to be happy and he would be satisfied.  
"He's your son!" Cersei trumpeted. Jaime was going to deny that until he met the grave.

"No! Of course he isn't. How could a little shit like that spring from the loins of someone so dashingly good looking, so admirable, so alluring, so angelic, so appealing, so charming, so classy, so dazzling, so divine, so elegant, so enticing, so exquisite, so fair, so foxy, so gorgeous, so magnificent, so ravishing, so resplendent, so shapely, so statuesque, so sublime, so taking, so well-formed and so wonderful as myself?" Jaime said. He could have said it in far more words, too.

"Well he's not Robert's child, that's for sure," Cersei said. Jaime's then, unless Cersei had lain with that enigmatic Master of Whispers. Jaime had certainly thought about it before, but Varys hadn't seemed interested.

Most likely Joffrey was Jaime's. Most unfortunately indeed. All Cersei's fault, she was raising him to be as bitchy a little princess as she was. "Joff might be coming here later, you have to act responsible. As a father, and the only man with any balls in the entire family,"

Jaime was pretty sure Hodor might fit into that category now, the way that he'd been in the clearing with Bran. But he just nodded at his sister's request.

Sleeping with Cersei all the time was great. Really. He got booty twice as much as he usually would, had been rockin' with her since they lay together in the cradle, and he didn't have to deal with the repercussions that inevitable pregnancy produced. The whole setup had seemed so wonderful.

Until prince Joffrey came along. Made him wish he'd kept his golden armour on in bed the whole time.

"Be nice to prince Joffrey, his heart is good, and he needs a positive figure to look up to. He'd never hurt a fly, truly, my Joff."

"Would he hurt a cat and cut its unborn children from the womb?" Jaime didn't really know why he said that. Just sort of came out, things like that often did.

"What!" Cersei stood up abruptly from the table. Quite rightly too. Jaime cursed his big mouth. Cut a cat's offspring from its belly? Why would little Joffrey do something like that? Sometimes he couldn't help himself. "Have you been drinking with Tyrion again?"

"No..." Jaime replied. He'd been sulking down in the Armoury the entire time, thinking about Hodor. Hodor, Hodor, Hodor, Hodor, Hodor. As Hodor would say. She just made a disgusted sniff and skipped away from him towards the door, heels clacking on the ground. Servants pulled the door open, and Jaime was left alone.

A bit of an overreaction. Jaime had only insulted her son, and it was obvious that it needed doing by someone, but Cersei was prone to overreactions. Not trying to make an innuendo, but failing nonetheless, he knew _all_ the things Cersei Lannister reacted to.

Jaime decided he didn't need to mope any longer. Hodor was his brother, not the heir. Lords had plenty of brothers, and perhaps Hodor would make a good... Steward? No. Probably be best to send the giant to the Knight's Watch before he created young heirs of his own. Jaime walked the long distance out of the mead hall himself, taking a brief glance at the weary bards, still going at the song.

A servant opened the heavy doors for him. Of course, Jaime didn't know his name. Jaime didn't have time for the names of all the lords and nobles, let alone the servants. Like, people such as Vayon Poole. Who the fuck was Vayon Poole? Or Ser Willas Tyrell? Jaime surely didn't know, and he didn't think he ever would, either.

So he left the hall, glad to be free of his father and mother, and returned to his own quarters. There was some armour polish there, and he intended to use it.

* * *

The entire Lannister clan were seated for dinner, back in the eating hall. All their followers, bannermen, servants, next-of-kin, second-of-kin, somehow-related-of-kin, and pretty much everyone who had ever been associated with the Lannisters ever, were there. Of course, each one of them had a name, and a sigil, ten children, twenty bastards, and a personality trait that was supposed to make them memorable.

For Jaime, the author's attempts to make the characters noteworthy wasn't working, but he knew the name of the man he sat next to. It drummed on the inside of his head more than _The Rains of Castamere_.

That man was called Hodor.

"Hodor," said Hodor.

On the other side of him at table, was his father, Tywin. At least there was that small mercy. Or so Jaime had thought before dinner had begun. Since the first course was served Tywin and Hodor had started up a heated conversation, and Jaime was all but forced to talk to Joanna.

Earlier Tyrion reported that Hodor had thoroughly enjoyed the entertainment provided by the last few hours, but had wrecked several pieces of furniture in the process. Not purely beds, although there were a fair few of them in the mix. Mostly chairs he tried to sit down upon, doors he attempted to open, a few bones of the wenches they were involved with, and some of the best ones too.

"So, you were carrying heavy goods including sacks of grain, flower, and shit around for the Starks?" Tywin asked, intrigued by his son's words.

"Hodor. Hodor."

"No. You aren't serious, my boy? That is devastating, truly."

"Hodor," Hodor informed him. Tywin seemed so emotionally moved by the statement, it was if he were close to tears.

"I'm so sorry, my son." he sobbed "I wish we had delivered you from Lord Eddard years ago." he was choking back tears now, "We will avenge what the Starks have done to a son of House Lannister."

"Hodor," Hodor mused.

"Don't dwell on the past, Hodor, we have to let go. You will get over this emotional scar the Starks have spread over your tormented mind. Fear, not, you are with family now."

"Hodor." Jaime was fairly sure he was missing something here. Couldn't catch a word of what Hodor was saying. Probably just shocked at his sudden appearance in the family. Like after an enormous explosion, when you are discombobulated.

But they hadn't invented that word yet, and there were mighty few explosions around at the time, so Jaime kept his controversial thoughts to himself.

"So, Hodor," his father insisted, "what are your tastes in fine music?" he took a bite of the the steak which now appeared on the table, through the magical process of serving girls. Jaime liked steak, so he dug into his as well, taking care not to spill any gravy on his newly polished armour.

"Hodor," said Hodor, picking up the steak with his bare paw, and shoving it whole into his massive gullet. Jaime was reminded of a hoover, the way that he grabbed the plate, brought it to his mouth, and systematically sucked the sauce and vegetables off of it.

A hoover, was of course, a specific type of servant who cleared up carpets very efficiently, taking away the smallest piece of dirt from every corner.

"I mean, I personally enjoy a good historic song," Tywin said, tucking in to his own food, "Such as, _The Rains of Castamere._ Have you heard that one, Hodor?"

"Hodor."

"Really? I must order the lazy bards to play it at some point."

The bards, voices now sore as aged maesters, were just beginning another round of '_And who, are you?_' Several lesser bannermen sitting on the lower tables were throwing pieces of vegetable from their meals at the singers. Still they struggled through the song again. A noble effort, the bards would make good knights with endurance such as this.

"Hodor," Hodor told his father. Tywin looked taken aback, almost offended by the critique.

"I see, more of a classical music man yourself. That I can understand,"

"Hooooodoooor!" Hodor protested, as if he had been mistakenly interpreted.

"Oh, my apologies, you appreciate hardcore trance dance scores."

"Hodor," Hodor confirmed.

Jaime was glad to have the meal as a distraction, so he didn't have to talk to his mother. Old Nan was sitting opposite him, just grinning. No meal was in front of her, since the servants were busy mashing the food up so she could eat it without teeth. She just stared at Jaime as he ate.

"I sang _The Rains of Castamere_ to you as a little boy," she told Jaime. Oh no. This required him to smile and produce a response, didn't it?

"I cannot recall," Jaime told her. Wasn't much else he could say.

"Always, as a lullaby for you and Cersei, over and over again. You were such a cute little babe, with dimpled cheeks and curly blond hair,"

"Mother," Jaime started, choosing his words with care, "I am now a knight in the Kingsguard and the heir to Lannister fortunes,"

"And you giggled so happily when I tickled your wee stomach!" Old Nan exclaimed, with a toothless chuckle, loudly enough that several others from the surrounding tables stuck their heads up at the words. Jaime tried to crouch down so they wouldn't see him, but the golden armour didn't allow him to be very mobile.

Joanna- Old Nan- his mother, had a coarse accent, like she was a commoner of the northern province around Winterfell. Must have picked it up during her years there. Hodor, however, was a different matter. Try as he might, Jaime couldn't tell where that voice came from. The deep, guttural shouts of 'Hodor!'. Could have been from the land across the seas, or from Ashford, or from King's Landing, it was difficult to discern. The man truly was an enigma.

The rest of dinner was a similar nightmare. Tyrion was over by the barrels of mead that were stasher at the side of the room, and Cersei chatted with the other plastics at the very end of the table. Jaime, however, was stuck between a rock and a hard place, with Hodor acting as both, and Joanna making inappropriate comments the entire time.

When they had finished the food, however, things got far, far worse than Jaime had even thought possible.

The massive mead hall had nehall even used for dancing, but dancing was obviously Tywin's intention when he took up the hand of his lady wife and ordered all the bannermen and house servants to push aside the lengthways tables to clear a space. Really, it was a lot like the layout of the hall from Harry Potter, Jaime thought, but with a lot more hoes, even more crusty old men, and far fewer children.  
But Jaime didn't say a word of his thoughts, because he knew that Harry Potter was a far overused topic on the Fanfiction community, and his own 'fic would totally get flamed for making the comparison.

But all the tables were pushed to the side now, and Tywin brought his lady wife out onto the newly open space. They gazed into each other's eyes as if they weren't completely repulsed by their partner. Dreamily, they even clasped each other's hands, and all went silent in the room. All apart from some burping emerging from Tyrion in the corner, two wenches on the end of his arms. Even the singing bards went silent, a sound Jaime had only heard on a handful of occasions.

Tywin turned toward the bards, the singer was desperately reaching for a drink to quench his parched throat, but quickly dropped it when the Lord of Lannisport commanded him.

"Play _The Rains of Castamere_!" Tywin ordered them. So much for the silence.

It was a pitiful attempt, on all parts. The bard could hardly croak the words, Tywin's wife was so immobile that she could only take a couple of wavering steps at a time. Jaime could have done a better job, and he was wearing head to toe heavy armour, not to mention a weighty sword at the waist.

He noticed that a handful of the servant women were crying on the sides, and he gave them a quizzical look.

"It's so wonderful to have our beautiful Lady Lannister back at the Rock!" one of them explained, all bleary eyed. He couldn't understand it. He ought to be bawling a level of tears that a fully grown man can only produce at the end of Titanic, but didn't feel a thing. This was his mother here! People usually shat themselves over things like these family reunions, didn't they? Jaime's pants were utterly unsoiled. But that was a good thing, he wouldn't want to get any muck on his armour.

Speaking of his armour, it seemed like it was just about time to go and polish it again, and have a good few bouts with the sword. He knew that he really ought to go and dance with Cersei at that moment if he wanted to get laid any time soon. For some reason, he didn't feel like it right now. Yes, this sudden twist of family events made even Jaime Lannister not want sex from his sister. What was Westeros coming to these days?

Partly though, he didn't want to sire another thing that would grow up to be anywhere near the little bitch that Joffrey was. Let Robert Baratheon take the blame for that fuck-up.

He tried to leave, pushing past the bannermen that were now happily clapping in time to the music as if it were some merry jig instead of something about the fall and bloody murder of another house. Many lords who inhabited Casterly Rock were now dancing with their corresponding partners, each one of them copying the prim stepping movements that Tywin and Joanna were making. Jaime dared to think he could get away amidst all the rowdy chaos. He was a couple strides away from the door, he would make it, he could make it-

"Hodor." a voice came from behind him, a shadow looming over him, flickering in the firelight.

Jaime swivelled to meet his fate. His brother stood there, like a flabby version of the Mountain, looking at Jaime straight on with those dull eyes.

"Hodor." Hodor said. It was a demand, not an invitation.

Jaime winced, he knew what was going to happen, and braced himself at the last second for the shitstorm that was about to come.

Hodor grabbed Jaime's arms forcefully, and grappled them with his enormous hands. With a grin fitting a giant on his face, he pulled Jaime out to the dance floor. Jaime grimaced as Hodor twirled him around in great blundering circles. They frolicked together in the Lannister mead hall, Hodor lumbering about through some unknown dance routine completely clumsily. It was more similar to some heathen ritual the wild men north of the wall might do than any dance Jaime had ever heard of. The knight of the Kingsguard was subjected to link arms with Hodor. Again and again in patterns they danced, Hodor creating a great thud on the floor with every pound of his feet. It was the best Jaime could do not to be knocked to the floor through multiple dives, twists and flourishes that the giant led him through. He couldn't tell how many renditions of Castamere he was dragged through. It could have been five, or it could have been fifty, time seemed to stand still when he danced with Hodor. Everything else blurred around him, and it was just Jaime Lannister and the enormous stable hand, caught together in a web of raw emotion.

For Jaime, that raw emotion was a combination of complete dread and utter repulsion, but he didn't have a choice but to endure it.

Finally it all finished, Hodor dipped Jaime toward the floor in a low, elegant move, and pulled him back up again.

"Hodor," Hodor whispered.

Their faces were close enough to kiss, Hodor breathed heavily onto Jaime, the smell of steak and horse stables wafted over to Lannister. Why was the smell of stables on Hodor's breath? Surely he hadn't been eating the horse manure?

As Hodor finally let Jaime go after a tense moment of staring into each other's eyes, he decided he didn't want to know. The knight ran, as fast as he could in the golden apparel. Above all things, he needed a drink, so he started rushing in the direction of Tyrion, disregarding everyone in the hall around him.

What would everyone say? Jaime didn't want to be like Ser Loras! This wasn't his fault, Hodor had forced him into it! It wasn't fair, not fair at all.

In the Game of Thrones, you win or you die, but what happens if a giant, semi-mute dung shoveller grabs hold of you and forces you into a romantically suggestive dance with him?

Out of winning and dying, Jaime supposed it was a damn slight closer to dying.

He was nearly up to his brother, bumping through dancing nobles in the crowd, shoving anyone in front of him out his way, putting as much distance between him and Hodor as possible. He could see Tyrion, pouring a fresh glass of beer out of the keg. Cold and frosty, frothing at the top, like it was just made for Jaime to drink. Could nearly taste it, could-

"Son?" someone he'd pushed out the way blurted out, in the middle of their own dance. It was Tywin's voice, and he caught hold of Jaime before he could run away. Damn, of everyone he was storming through, he had the misfortune of it ending up as Tywin.

Now he was about to receive the scolding of his life for something that was Hodor's fault. Gods, this business was unjust.

"Yes, father?" Jaime replied nervously, aware of his father's firm frown. Old Nan – Joanna smiled beside him, but it wasn't a comfort, just eerie as usual.

"I saw you with Hodor, and, I hope you take this seriously, Jaime, I have something to say," Tywin said, with utmost sincerity. No! No! He wasn't like Ser Loras! It was Hodor's fault! Blame him! I've been lying with Cersei faithfully for years! Ask her about it! Jaime feared what his father would say now almost as much as he'd been terrified of Hodor a few minutes ago. Tywin just looked at Jaime slowly, and Jaime knew his sentence was near.

Suddenly, Tywin's intense frown turned to an elated smile. He grinned in a way Jaime had never seen him grin before. As if he'd had a triple-extreme dosage of The Milk of the Poppy. He dragged Jaime into a great, fatherly hug.

"Jaime, my boy," Tywin breathed, happy voice breaking with emotion in his ear, "you couldn't have given your new brother a better welcome." tears were on the edge of his voice "Hodor is truly a Lannister now, and part of the family. Thank you, for all your acceptance," Tywin pulled Jaime closer, saying something so low that Jaime could hardly even hear. "And your love."

Tywin released Jaime from his iron grip, still smiling happily, and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Go on, boy," Tywin encouraged. Jaime wasn't exactly sure why, but he turned away from his father and tried to run to Tyrion once more.

And was met with a brick wall.

Not a brick wall, a man; Hodor.

Hodor grabbed Jaime, and he instantly wished that he was back in Tywin's hug. The giant brought him into a suffocating embrace. He breathed on Jaime some more, and sweated onto him, and crushed him. He smelled dreadful, and Jaime suspected he hadn't had a bath since his removal from Winterfell.

By a stroke of bad luck, Jaime looked up towards Hodor's face, hoping it would be less unpleasant than his musky chest. Regret seeped over him as he witnessed Hodor's expression of endearing dedication, utter admiration, and unwavering love.

"Hodor," Hodor said, the tender adoration clear in his tone.

Well this was a nice fucking mess he'd gotten into.


	2. High As Hodor

**Once Hodor selects his mate, he will track that mate until his quarry submits; not letting him alone for a second, and never giving up the hunt.**

* * *

Morning rose over Casterly Rock, the glorious sun coming up early, because this was Lannisport, not the goddamn north, and the weather was just peachy around here.

Jaime slept in his chambers, devoid of Cersei at his side. Devoid of anyone there at all. Tyrion would certainly disapprove. Quickly, as soon as the first sliver of light penetrated through his curtains, Jaime woke with a jolt, sitting straight as a board in his bed.

Hodor was just a dream. Everything had been a horrible, dung shovelling nightmare. What a relief.

The armour stuck to his skin, as he got out of bed. He'd slept in it, as he always did. Did everything in it, _everything_. And we know what you're thinking. You believe Jaime Lannister had to take his armour off at _some point_, but he didn't. He ate wearing it, he slept wearing it, he fought wearing it, he wore it at parties, he banged Cersei wearing it. And most recently, at least in his dream, he'd danced with Hodor wearing it.

He took a sniff of the golden plating. Did smell a little off. Not like the sweat of noble lords, more like the sweat of servants. Some rowdy sort of drinking with Tyrion must have gone on last night, but he didn't have a headache. Pondering if his current state of mind might be due to a little Milk Of The Poppy, he moved over to the mirror atop a cabinet of drawers.

Instantly, he felt less ghastly.

For staring back at him was Jaime Lannister, knight of the Kingsguard, charmer of the ladies, defender of Lannisport, and the sight was a fine one. Gods, was it good to be Jaime Lannister.

Now he had a mind to go and find Cersei before anyone else started to wake up. Get in some more heirs for the kingdom, just in case. Seemed like a good idea, so he spent a few minutes cleaning up his hair before leaving his bedroom. It was a spacey place, as well it should be for the future Lord of Casterly rock, a knitted quilt of Lannister crests was hung on the wall. Not a tapestry, a quilt, and it had the house words on it, as if Jaime could ever forget. There was also lavish décor, many comfortable chairs, a warm hearth, and many tables, each of which were completely covered with pots and buckets of armour polish. He also owned an enormous four poster bed with reinforced mattress springs.

After all, he was the Kingslayer.

Now, however, he left his shag pad alone and proceeded through the corridor outside, thankful every second that the nightmare was over. Everything had been a dream, he could go back to normal now, his mother was still dead. Hodor was... well, Hodor was a horror created by his subconscious imagination.

A servant woman was scurrying hurriedly past him, change of spare sheets in her hand. As soon as she caught sight of Jaime, she walked faster. Wouldn't want to get caught with lord Lannister in the early hours, would she? But Jaime managed to catch her by the arm and stop her from running any further.

"Where is Lady Cersei?" he asked. It was pretty damn obvious that he was going on an uninvited booty call to the Queen's room, but Jaime didn't exactly give a crap about what the servant might assume.

"In the guest halls, ser," the frightened woman replied "she's in the first room on the floor beneath us, Lord Lannister,"

"Nice!" Jaime replied, already on his way to the chamber the woman had referred to.

Jaime was going to get some now, and it felt pretty good.

Soon he was right outside her room, giggling like a little child. Cersei was inside! At Casterly Rock after so many months with the king! A relative dry spell for Jaime, certainly. He pressed his head against the thick wood of the door. Might have been his imagination, but he might have heard Cersei's breathy snores. The most ladylike of all snores, to be sure.

A hand placed on the shining handle, he was just about to enter. Damn, he felt alive right now. When was the last time he did something like this? Sneaked into Cersei's room while the family slept? They'd only been able to have brief minutes together since she became queen. Never a good long while in each other's arms. Now was one of those few, beautiful times when Cersei came to Casterly Rock, to meet with him.

Wait... why was she at Casterly Rock?

There weren't any pressing political matters at hand. They were safe as houses in their secret with bitch-prince Joffrey. Weren't they? Of course they were. Did Cersei plan to finally snuff out Robert? Did she have an urgent matter to discuss with her father, or Tyrion? Surely they could have met somewhere else.

No, Cersei wouldn't be here unless Tywin had called her. Called her to some pressing family business. And why was Jaime here, as well? He usually spent his days mucking about with the Kingsguard in King's Landing, it didn't make sense.

"Aww, hell," Jaime cursed as he heard footsteps behind him. Things weren't going to go as planned. Jaime wouldn't get any today. Worst of all, someone was about to find out about him and Cersei. Quickly, he let go of the door handle and backed up against the wall, standing up tall and properly.

The footsteps were becoming louder and louder. Slow ones, as if the man stepping them had all the time in the world and didn't have to write a Fanfiction chapter every week. Just around the corner, any second now they would-

Jaime breathed a sigh of relief when he saw it was only Tywin Lannister, his father. He went back to prying and Cersei's door handle, and was just about getting it open when-

"Son?" Tywin asked him "I can see that you're a little busy, but-"

"I _am_ a little busy, father, just leave me alone, the kingdom needs more Lannister heirs."

"Son!" Tywin grabbed Jaime's shoulders and swivelled him around so he was forced to face his father.

But it wasn't just his father, no, that would have been too normal. It was his father, his aged mother.

And his new brother Hodor. All in the empty corridor of the Lannister guest rooms. Hodor could hardly fit, so he lurked in the junction of the corner, taking up twice as much space as Jaime would, and six times as much as Tyrion.

"Hodor," said Hodor. It was the thing you've paid to hear him say. Old Nan – Joanna – watched them with her rotten smile again.

Not a dream, then.

Jaime was going to need an awful lot of the Milk of The Poppy to forget this one.

"Yes, Father?" Jaime replied, voice quavering with fear. He'd spent only an hour or two in Hodor's company, and was already beginning to dread his presence. Winter truly came when Hodor was around.

"Good morning!" Tywin exclaimed. It had been. Jaime was only a few strides away from Cersei's sweet ass, he'd been picking the lock on the door. So close to being an _excellent_ morning.

"Indeed," Jaime replied. Joanna nodded to him, slowly, but staring eyes never decreasing in size. Above anything else, Jaime was reminded of the wildlings.

"Hodor," Hodor greeted. Probably saying 'good morning'.

Fuck that! Of course he wasn't saying 'good morning'!

He was saying 'Hodor'.

"Jaime, I have a request for you today," Tywin informed him, releasing the claw-like grip on his shoulders.

"Mmmmn?" Jaime asked cautiously. This could be a good thing, something to get him away from Hodor the entire day. Something to occupy his time, take him as far away from the beast as possible. Please, could it be to return to King's Landing? Jaime would happily do that! Anything!

"I would like you to give our son Hodor a tour of Casterly Rock," Tywin commanded him.

No. No. No, no, no, no, no, no, NO!

"Father! Do you mean the entire citadel?" Jaime despaired.

"Yes! Naturally. He's in the family now, and hasn't had his entire life to get to know the Rock, unlike you."

It was true, Jaime did know all the _secret rooms_. Ones in which you could hide with someone for hours and never get caught.

But Cersei knew about those secret places as well!

"Please, my lord, cannot Tyrion or Cersei undertake this task?" Jaime begged his father. Tywin's friendly tone disappeared after that.

"Trying to get away from your brother, are you?"

"No! Naturally not, but I have work to do today-"

"Polishing your armour?" Tywin rebutted. As if polishing your armour wasn't a worthy task.

"I'm a knight of the Kingsguard!" Jaime pleaded. Nearly Lord Commander of it, too. Just waiting for the old man Barristan to retire...

"And Hodor has been working as a slave his entire life! We all have to make sacrifices to set ourselves on the right path." Well, there was one thing Tywin was right about. Guiding Hodor was certainly a sacrifice. "Besides, I believe that Hodor has certainly taken to you,"

"Hodor!" Hodor agreed.

"That much was certainly clear from your..." Tywin trailed off trying to think of the proper word for something so desperately improper, "display, last night,"

"Hodor!"

Display wasn't the right word for it. It was damn close to rape, was what it was. Jaime stared into Hodor's happy eyes, nervously chewing on his lip. The giant grinned, as he had last night, as he had every time since whenever he saw Jaime.

Definitely rape.

Jaime might have blinked, or moved in some subtle way, because Tywin somehow interpreted it as saying 'yes, of course I would love to spend the day avoiding my simple-minded brother's misguided and sinful affection!'

"That's my boy!" Tywin let go of Jaime and pushed him towards Hodor. He hurtled toward the giant so fast that he couldn't stop himself crashing into his chest again.

"Hodor."

"You two have gotten off so well together!" Old Nan creaked, walking towards Jaime and tousling his hair. Jaime knew he wasn't the most righteous of people. He understood that he was a 'Bad Boy'. Cersei had certainly told him so in other out of context times. Jaime wasn't a good person, he killed others for a living, supported incest and adultery, sired a couple of bastards, and generally didn't do anything else. But what in the seven kingdoms had he done to deserve _this_?

"Off you go!" Tywin urged, trying to push Jaime and Hodor away from he and his wife. Jaime backed up with his brother as soon as he saw Tywin pulling Joanna close into a ferociously feral kiss. Their tongues connecting as they had yesterday, the grunting started up again. There was the sinking feeling inside him that they were about to do a lot more than have a good old fashioned snog. He uttered a silent prayer that Cersei would be able to get out of her room without witnessing was was beginning to happen on the corridor carpet. Leaving them, even with Hodor, was a far preferable option. So he dashed out the corridor, spirit constantly dampened by Hodor's lumbering footfall behind him.

* * *

"Hodor?" Hodor was looking at a crate being delivered. Carried by two squires that breezed past in the courtyard. His attention seemed to be drawn by most everything around him.

"It's filled with food, or supplies, or something!" Jaime was forced to explain angrily. They were standing in one of the Casterly Rock practise courtyards, complete with a range of weaponry, sparring circles, and practise dummies to assault with your sword.

Damn it, that wasn't an innuendo! Not blow up dummies, the kind you usually had in training yards. And Jaime never reduced himself to assaulting any dummies with his sword. At least not when Cersei was around...

Hodor thought it was like Disneyland or whatever crap he believed in. 'Disney' being the official state for the insane in Westeros, and he looked at everything as if it were inconceivably awesome. Jaime had to admit that Casterly Rock itself was pretty swag, since they had a lot of money to spend on it, but it wasn't worth the reaction that Hodor produced.

That and Hodor insisted on holding Jaime's hand the entire time he was led around. Where 'insisting' was grasping tightly as death and not letting go. Jaime doubted that if he severed Hodor's hand with one of the blades around here that it would even let go. They were stood in the middle of a larger courtyard, and a couple of bannermen were going at each other with blades in one of the training circles. Jaime considered if he'd be able to get Hodor to let go of his hand by offering to show him his skills with the sword, but his brother's attention was already drawn away.

"Hodor!" Hodor exclaimed, pointing with his free hand at a rack of maces and shields that rested against the wall. He picked one of the shields up, swinging it wildly so that Jaime had to duck out of its reach.

"Let go of that!" Jaime snapped, trying to snatch the shield from Hodor's hand. It was quite a nice one, it had the Lannister crest embossed onto it, and, of course, was plated with gold. As Jaime suspected, it was impossible for him to get Hodor to let go.

Soon, however, he dropped the shield on the floor with a painstakingly expensive clatter, and ran off at top speed, Jaime in miserable tow.

It seemed that Hodor had caught sight of the stables.

He rushed towards the closest pony, a black one with four legs, and started to stroke its mane.

"Hoodooo-"

"Don't you even fucking start!" Jaime interrupted him, wailing.

"r." Hodor finished. Jaime growled, and tried to get away from the prison-like clamp of Hodor's hand.

They had about ten horses out here in the stable courtyard, each one in its own stall, and munching contentedly on some hay. Each one of them was looking pretty pleased with itself, and was having a hell of a better time that Jaime was, for sure.

Hodor stroked the black horse, over and over again. It neighed in gleeful appreciation.

"Hodor?"

"Yes! We do have a stable halfway up the citadel, half a league above sea level!" Jaime said, hoping that would answer whatever question Hodor had tried to ask. Try as he could, Jaime still couldn't understand what Hodor said.

"Hodor?!"

"It's all the way up here so we can ride down through the streets, and down the mountain, killing invaders along the way. Like that scene in _The Two Towers_ where Aragorn and Théoden charge through the streets of Helm's Deep," Jaime explained. Hodor didn't seem to understand, for some incomprehensible reason, and just kept on stroking the ponies.

Hodor kept going at the ponies for an indeterminable amount of time, in which Jaime quickly became bored. A small part of him was thankful that Hodor's attention was drawn away from him, but everything else just wanted to run back to Cersei's bedroom as quickly as possible. Wasn't there a wise man that once said, 'I have to go, I could be getting laid right now,'? If there wasn't a quote like that, Jaime thought there certainly should be.

Gradually, he tried to get out of Hodor's grasp. The giant was sweating on his palms, and it reduced the friction between their hands. Jaime was just about making a good attempt at sliding out of his clutch, but Hodor chose that exact moment to move on from the pony.

"What now?" Jaime hissed. Hodor dragged him further into the depths of the Lannister stable. Dirty hay coated the floor, mixed with brown patches Jaime hoped were mud. He led Jaime past the horse, which Jaime was certain tried to kick him, and to the very back wall. A chair rested against that wall, a pitiful three legged one for the horse master to sit upon. At the feet of that chair were three empty buckets, and two shovels. Hodor made a beeline for them.

"No!" Jaime protested, "No, Hodor! Back! Back out of the stable! Don't pick that up-" Hodor was placing his grubby paw along the handle of the shovel, still not letting go of Jaime. "Okay, Hodor, put that back down. Now."

Hodor reached for the other shovel even as he spoke, and extended his free arm. Offering it to Jaime.

"Hodor." said Hodor.

"Hodor, I'm a Lannister of Lannisport, the heir to the Lannister fortunes, the richest House in the seven kingdoms, in all Westeros, even. In a few decades I will be the wealthiest man in the entire world." and Hodor wanted him to do manual labour. Jaime didn't even want to think what sort of manual labour Hodor wanted him to perform. The inevitable thoughts popped up in his mind.

"Hodor." Hodor insisted violently, pushing the shovel up against Jaime's chest.

"No!" Jaime argued back, dropping the instrument to the ground. The clanking of metal against stone brought on more braying by the horses around them.

A new kind of fire built up in Hodor's eyes. The kind that Jaime might associate with the Targaryens, not the Lannisters. Jaime wondered if Hodor had any blood of the Dragon in him, for he glared at Jaime with a terrifying power that the knight had seen in no other man. Never on the field of battle, facing the deadliest of opponents, had Jaime felt such utter power in a foe. The beady, dull grey peepers on Hodor's face burned with a fury, a pure, raw, animalistic, feral rage. Hodor leaned down and picked up the shovel, once again, and pressed it back towards Jaime's hand.

"Hodor." Hodor fumed. Jaime had no choice but to take it. He even came close to replying with a 'Hodor' of his own, it seemed to be the language of might around this man.

After that, Hodor's happy, dumb tones returned, and his eyes glazed once again and face went back to an idiotic grin. Then, in an act from the Gods, Hodor let go of Jaime's hand, and went for the nearest piece of brown muck with his own shovel.

Jaime nursed his now pulsating blue hand back to life, whimpering with the pain. The blood hadn't been able to pump into it, Hodor's clutch was so strong. Now it flushed an unhealthy shade of red.

Hodor brought his piece of muck to a bucket, and moved on to the next one. Unwisely, Jaime decided to peer at the load Hodor had just placed in the bucket. Quickly, he looked away.

Horse dung for sure, then.

He looked at the shovel in his hand, then at a piece of shit lying on the floor near to his foot. Thought about scooping it up. Would never hear the end of things from Tyrion if he did sink to that.

And then he looked up, above the courtyard, to the floors above, the masses of stone rooms that comprised Casterly Rock. He managed to pick out which one would be Cersei's, or at least the one closest to it. He imagined her sitting in there, hair messy from sleep, all lonely and wistful. Probably not wearing too many clothes, if HBO had anything to say about it. He imagined her waiting for someone to come to her, comfort her. Her prince charming, her Jaime Lannister.

So Jaime chose to do, what is formally referred to as a 'booty run', where one individual storms through every obstacle in order to obtain said booty, ignoring any potential consequences. He dropped the shovel, and pelted through the stable at the highest speed he could. The expensive greaves he donned squelched into various pieces of shit.

"_Cersei, I'm coming!_" he shouted as he ran. Could nearly see daylight, now, was so close to getting away. But that hope was far too optimistic.

A heavy arm, complete with shaft of shovel on the end of it, crashed into his back, knocking him painfully to the floor. Thank the Gods he was wearing his armour, or that would have be a severe injury. Still, he was winded, and lying face down on the floor of the stables. His head was cushioned by something. Something particularly soft, other than hay.

"Arrrgh!" Jaime raised a glimmering gauntleted hand to wipe the horse crap off his face. Biting back the pain, he sat up, feeling the blow to his back sourly. He turned towards his assailant, whimpering. It had been a long time since he was actually wounded in battle, and having it done by a mute stable hand with a shit collecting tool made it all the worse.

Hodor might have made a disapproving tsk, were he not Hodor. Instead, he just grinned excitedly at Jaime even more, broken teeth showing in his wide smile.

Jaime found that the shovel was being pressed back into his hand.

"Hodor."

* * *

Jaime continued to lead Hodor around the rooms of Casterly Rock. He'd shown him the Golden Gallery, the Hall of heroes and other tourist attractions that Tywin always took guests to. Most thankfully, the stable hand had caught Hodor trying to clear out the entire stable, and had called in a lot of help. An entire team of twenty workers, so the job didn't take as long as it might've, were just Jaime and Hodor doing it. Jaime decided he would insist that Tywin raise that man's salary.

Now they were walking in the kitchens, because Hodor had smelled the cooking and shown his appreciation, wordlessly. Well, he'd said one word on the food, for sure.

As soon as they'd walked into the bustling busy kitchens, where mead was being prepared, and pheasants galore being plucked, Hodor instantly rushed to consume the closest platter of anything even slightly edible. Turned out to be a plate of cheese rinds. He burped afterwards, and from the smell of it, and Jaime's experience with his breath last night, the knight could but assume that he'd eaten far worse in his time.

They received a few odd looks from the kitchen staff, but they were mostly too well paid to ask any questions. Jaime wished that they were paid far less. Enough to mention it when something went so badly an obviously awry as this 'tour' Jaime was giving. But they just gave him their judgemental looks for a few seconds before letting Hodor continue on his business.

On almost every other surface in the vast kitchen was a copy of 'A feast of Ice and Fire', that expensive cookbook companion to the series. It seemed that they only ever ate food from those pages, and nothing ever modern or fancy, but he was used to it.

Gallivanting around, Hodor persistently aggravated everyone in the high ceilinged kitchen, placing dirty fingers on the whole roasted pig, drinking a pitcher full of newly cooked sauce, licking the spoon from a newly made cake. He annoyed Jaime most of all, but there was no need to state the obvious. At least Hodor wasn't holding his hand any more, but every time he tried to escape, Hodor blocked his exit. He hoped that Hodor would pass out from eating too much food, or drinking excessive amounts of mead. Now his brother was drinking the spare grease from a fried chicken.

He pulled a chef over, carrying a plate of lemon cakes, for a word.

"M'lord?" the chef replied to his call.

"Do we, er, have any Milk Of The Poppy?" he asked. Hopefully if they had enough in stock, he might be able to convince Hodor to take it. That might aid his descent into unconsciousness, and speed up the amount of time it would be until Jaime's freedom.

"No, ser, I'm afraid. Lord Tyrion took the last of it away last week."

"Blast." Jaime cursed. The Imp sure enjoyed his parties, but his lavish lifestyle was costing Jaime dearly now.

"Hodor!" Hodor called. Jaime sighed and went to see what was happening. Hodor was staring at a meat roast turning around and around on a spit, drool pouring out the corners of his mouth.

"Come, let's move on," Jaime pulled him away in exasperation.

"Hodor!" Hodor concurred, grabbing Jaime by the arm again.

"No! No! Bad Hodor!" Hodor paid no heed to his protest. Hodor then took him through to the other side of the kitchen, and into another corridor. Here was where the food was stored, masses and masses of it, in case a feast ever needed to be held. In the seven kingdoms, the words 'meal' and 'feast' were interchangeable.

There must have been at least a score of well stocked supply rooms, filled with food that could last one man years. Or one Hodor ten minutes.

There weren't many staff walking about around here, quite empty compared to the kitchen. Hodor led Jaime to the very end of the long hall, a few hundred strides. With every step towards the dead end, Jaime felt he was moving further and further away from rescue. There was no way to get out of here, apart from the kitchen exit the way that they came from. Hodor would have to go back in the opposite direction, and he seemed pretty set on surging forwards.

Jaime tried to resist, but as usual, it was futile. They reached the last store room, the kitchen door they'd come through seeming a league away. There wasn't a change Jaime could sprint that far without being caught by Hodor.

His brother pushed the door open with a massive shoulder, and forced Jaime inside, pressing a sweaty palm against his glimmering, freshly polished armour. That would leave a mark, but for once, Jaime was less concerned about his armour than he was worried about what would happen next. Hodor's intent by taking them to an out of the way, near soundproof room, was pretty clear.

Inside were hundreds of different foodstuffs on broad shelves. Cheese, pheasant, mead, more pheasant and some dried meats. Nothing particularly creative, this place was made for dried, long term-storage. It wasn't regularly used.

That meant that the servants wouldn't check on it for days to come.

The floor space was quite small, but it was wide enough to lie down upon. That was what Jaime worried about. A window let in some light from outside. Perhaps if he was trapped in here he could sneak out while Hodor was sleeping.

Where was he getting all these images from? Strange ideas that Hodor has ill mannered intentions. Romantic ones at that. Surely Tyrion's supply of wenches had sated his urges last night? Jaime certainly hoped so.

But Hodor closed the door after he entered the room himself. A devastating, soul-crushing click of the latch that set heavily on Jaime's heart. He thought his spirit was completely vanquished, and that he couldn't feel any worse than he felt right then.

He was wrong, for after that, Hodor turned around to face him.

A devilish amusement flickered in the giant's eyes, playing with Jaime's already fragile emotions. He took a step away from the door, towards the knight. There wasn't a chance Jaime could run past him, he blocked the entire distance from shelf to shelf. Unless he managed a great leap over Hodor's head, the inevitable thing was about to happen.

A forced coupling it was to be, then. Jaime suddenly wished he was back to being forced to dance.

Hodor took another step forward. Jaime wanted to compare his smile to the Joker's, but didn't feel in the mood for pop culture references right now. He was like to a surging wave of flesh, making gradual, slow progress to the spot where Jaime was standing. Jaime backed away, only postponing the inevitable.

"Hodor," said Hodor.

Jaime suddenly felt very fragile, even with his armour on. As he did every day, he was going completely commando underneath the gold plating, if Hodor managed to get underneath-

No, he mustn't think about it. Go to a happy place, anywhere, but here, with Hodor's elated stare on him

Cersei, he should think of Cersei. Still sitting in her bedchamber, waiting for him, giving her half-smile.

Cersei.

If he didn't survive this, tell Cersei that he loved her. And to disown that abomination Joffrey she'd raised.

But there was no one to ask. No one but Hodor. No! He couldn't give up! Not yet!

His back hit the wall behind him, there was no where left to go, and Hodor came closer by the second. Armour clinked against the glass of the window, this was it.

The glass on the window!

Jaime looked outside. It wasn't far down to the sea, a hundred strides or so. People had survived worse falls than that, and, well, he might die today in this room anyway. Not thinking about how wearing heavy armour might cause him to sink, he punched at the glass out of the frame with his gauntleted hand, clearing it out as quickly as possible, took a step up to the ledge, and jumped out into the empty air.

There seemed to be a pause in space and time where Jaime just saw Hodor's disappointed face when he knew he'd been thwarted. He mouthed something as Jaime started to fall. A two-syllable word that Jaime couldn't make out, but knew in his deepest heart of fears what it was.

Then the ground started to rush toward him at a faster speed than he'd ever felt, sea pelting towards his face at a hundred leagues a second. He brought a hand up to hold his nose and braced himself for the impact.

When it came, Jaime judged that it was better than whatever Hodor'd been planing to do to him. A thousand icy daggers stabbing into every inch of his skin, body heavily sinking because of the solid gold he was laden down with. It was pain, but the kind of pain he could put up with. Inside his head, he fretted about the next time he would see Hodor, but he knew that he would at least get to talk to Cersei again, if only once more before Hodor came for him.

After all, he'd just jumped out of a window for her, she'd have to bang him at least a couple times for that.

So Jaime began the swim back to the coast, fearful images of Hodor's determined and diabolic facial expression back in the store room flickering through his head.


	3. Unbowed, Unbent, Unhodored

_**There is some recommended listening for this entire Fic. Not a whole playlist, but just one song, which has provided me with so much inspiration that I believe everyone should listen to it while reading. (Youtube/ ) watch?v=4pXfHLUlZf4**_

**_Thank you._**

**Heyy GUYSE! Thankxx soo much for reading my totes awesome fanfic. U are the best and help me get where I am. Be who you are and not who other people want you to be and all that, rights babe XX! :P**

**Ha! Ha! No.**

**Hodor will mold you into any any shape, form, or mindset he desires. You will be who ****_he_**** wants you to, or else. He is room 101, he is your greatest nightmare, come to swarm upon you from above, below, behind, or whatever direction you fear most.**

* * *

Jaime had thought recent events over long and hard after doing that glorious jump out of the window, and managed to come to several conclusions.

Firstly, there was no way to explain to Tywin what had happened. The man was delirious for love of his wife, and was likely to believe Hodor over Jaime in any argument. Hodor, despite being able to only say one word, held a lot of weight in an argument, and might try to attack Jaime forcefully if anything went wrong.

Secondly, Tyrion and his dearest beloved Cersei already believed that Hodor was their long lost brother, despite the lack of resemblances and utter unlikelihood. They had accepted him into the family, and would think Jaime overly paranoid over any complaint he placed against Hodor.

Thirdly, and above all,

Hodor had tried to rape him, and came very close to succeeding in that attempt.

The third one, he figured, was a drastically enormous factor in his decision to run away from Casterly Rock.

He wasn't running away permanently, oh no. Casterly Rock was a massive part of the Lannister fortunes, and he would inherit it come Tywin's death. Perhaps later on, when Hodor's urges had calmed down a little, he would return. After all, it was a place to meet Cersei, away from Robert's interrogating eyes. It was just that he didn't feel like having his armour forcibly pried off in some remote room of the castle any time soon.

So he made the choice to return to King's Landing, as soon as he emerged from the water, dripping with the salty water. At least it was only water covering him, and none of Hodor's seme-

Oh look! Let's think about something else, no more disgusting thoughts for you, Jaime, no! He thought to himself. He tried to blot the image of the clear, thick liquid running down the side of Hodor's-

A bird! See that! In the tree over there. It had children in the nest, newly hatched eggs most likely. Jaime loved the taste of boiled eggs.  
He shook the water off his armour as he stepped onto the rocky edge of the coast, hoping it wouldn't create any rust. The last thing he wanted in life was rust on his armour. If he was going to be anally assaulted by a five man strong giant, he wanted to look his best.  
From where he stood now, you could see Casterly Rock, and look at it Jaime did. Very wistfully, as well. It was a citadel of hundreds of rooms and buildings piled on top of each other on the offshore rock. The sun gleamed Lannister gold against the bricks, same colour as Jaime's voluptuous hair. If this was a music video, the camera would keep cutting between Jaime singing the man's verse, and Cersei the melancholy chorus. Both of them would be scantily dressed, and Jaime would be depicted walking along the beach in a faraway desperation, Cersei looking on the verge of tears in the rooms of Casterly Rock, both of them missing each other's warm company so much it just required them to burst into song.

But it wasn't a music video. Hell, there weren't even any cameras in Lannisport, the Maesters had seemed astounded when Jaime had described to them the way of capturing the light in the form of a picture. Thought him to be mad, but it was a very simple concept, dammit! Everyone was too wrapped up in their own life to understand.

Instead of looking for Cersei, picturing her smile that she brought out very occasionally when she wasn't bitching about something or other, he could only stare at the window he'd sprung from, and the shattered glass around it. An impressive dive, one Tom Daley would be pretty fucking pleased to make. It wasn't like that, though, and very unfortunately, Cersei hadn't been there to see him jump off a narrow plank wearing a golden speedo.

Jaime sighed, and was about to turn away from his beloved home, when he caught sight of something in the high window he'd jumped from.

More precisely, someone, who was still glaring out of it.

The figure took up the entire space, gigantic head examining him like he was a piece of meat. His massive bulk loomed beneath his tiny neck, and Jaime realised that Hodor had been watching him this whole time.

It might have been his overly active imagination, combined with his splendid eyesight, but Jaime thought he saw the figure's lips move.

Thought he saw a tongue come out and lick them in anticipation, and them slowly move to form a word.

"Hodor." there was nothing else it could be.

Run, he thought, just fucking run.

Jaime did just that, and nearly soiled his once perfectly gleaming armour with fear on the way.

* * *

He'd run for hours, now. Felt like years, months, days, even.

In reality, of course, it had been closer to twenty five minutes.

_But still_! The water hadn't all run off him when he got out of the sea. What was left of it collected in a pocket in a particularly unpleasant place, and jogged against him every time he ran. After a while, he thought to take the armour off, let all the water out. Being completely devoid of clothes underneath that, however, he soldiered on with the pool of itching liquid rubbing against his crotch like those things some referred to as undergarments.

No, Jaime had never liked undergarments to start off with. Rough, uncomfortable things, that made times with Cersei a lot more difficult.  
Finally, after so much running, he came across a building on the grassy horizon. Was mostly grass and mountains, with a few lions to brighten up the scenery. There weren't naturally lions around here, but Tywin had insisted that a population of them were placed into the county years ago, and they'd bred like anxious rabbits. Now they were all but tame vermin, and you wouldn't have to look far to see a couple of the creatures pawing around inside cities, looking for scraps of food to eat.

The building he came to now was along a relatively busy road, so several wagons were parked outside. Probably the closest inn to Casterly Rock, so many servants might stop here on their way to and from the castle. Jaime would go in and ask the tavern keeper for some money. Enough to buy a horse and provisions enough for the ride to King's Landing. Perhaps he would hire and handful of sell-swords to protect him. Even though he _was_ the Kingslayer, he still needed some homies, even questionably loyal ones.

As Jaime came a little closer he realised that besides the odd occasional lions that shuffled around in the garbage bags outside, there were an awful lot of wagons and carts parked outside. So many that they were blocking the entrance to this moderately sized inn. Must be popular, or famous for its ale. Be nice to have a good drink after this ordeal he had been put through. The area around Lannisport really was a charming place, and he was glad that Tywin must have paid for this pub to be built at some point.

Surprisingly, after a while he noticed that the windows were all boarded up or closed. The place must be out of repair, then. But why would so many flock to it if it was being fixed up? Then he saw that the only windows that were boarded up were the ones without shutters. They must just want to keep whatever went on inside a secret. Perhaps a house for the Milk Of The Poppy.  
But as he came closer, he saw the name of the inn, and it wasn't an inn anymore.

The building was labelled, with a big, golden sign, that made the purpose of the building pretty goddamn obvious.

'_A Place for a Really Nice Fuck_' it read.

A brothel, then.

That made him consider not going inside, made him hesitate when he stood outside the battered door. '_Ooooh_'s and '_aaah_'s and cries of '_get the hell off of me, you creep!_' came from the upstairs rooms. He could even hear them from outside.

Jaime wasn't an objector to brothels, in fact, he could very much enjoy a _Really Nice Fuck_ if he was offered one. But this was awfully close to Casterly Rock, even if it was a few hours away, and going inside could ruin his reputation in the area. Some of the servants from the citadel might be in here, and they could spread the rumor across all of Lannisport.

This could potentially be very bad for him, being a kingsguard and all, but Jaime only shrugged.

"#YOLO," he said to himself, before pushing open the creaking door. He suspected that wasn't the only piece of furniture that creaked around here.

Inside was a large dining room, if 'dining' was the right word. The courses were more, ass, ass and more ass, but some food was offered. Rickety tables were scattered about with many patrons sitting happily at them. Overall the room was crowded with people, all fairly merrily going about their business.

Oh, right! Jaime had almost forgotten the tits! Yes, there were lots of those. Here there and everywhere, flopping about on every woman inside. He'd almost forgotten that this was made by a _cable _network, so showing all that was okay.

Dust drifted down to his head from the ceiling as the floorboards above shook and tremored to a resounding rhythm. Jaime was almost disappointed with the speed of that rhythm. He and Cersei could have certainly set a higher and more energetic tempo.

Very shockingly, it was almost as if the entire clientele were male. He thought he might see a couple dicks out on show for the ladies, but there were only one or two. Couldn't say he wasn't glad about that. Last thing Jaime wanted to be was a Tyrell.

Then he remembered the target audience for the books and television show was mostly virgin males, so there would be some controversy if there was any porn involved to support the women.

Jaime wondered who would give him a Really Nice Fuck, and checked out many pieces of available ass. Cersei was only a couple miles away in reality, but to Jaime it was a lifetime's worth of travelling, and after so many hours of not getting laid, he was pretty desperate.

"Oooooohaaaaaaaar," said one of the hoes, one finger pointing toward him, other hand covering her mouth in awe. "he's Jaime Lannister, he is!"

A whole group of them were cooing over him now. Oh well, if it was _that_ obvious who he was, there was no point in trying to hide it.

"A right fitty!" another one echoed. Jaime gave them a nervous wave, and they made a fawning noise.

The thought that he could get romantically involved with another woman had never really occurred to Jaime. Was he physically attractive?

What kind of question was that? Of-freaking-course he was! He could have any woman in the entire kingdom...

And he chose his sister. Ah well, at least that meant she was readily available.

He tried to look for the owner. He looked through the labyrinth of boobs that were filling his peripheral, and direct vision. They were oddly distracting, somehow, in a way he couldn't explain.

Strangely, the owner of the place found him, and Jaime instantly wished that he hadn't. Jaime wished that he'd never entered this brothel. The man's smug grin was almost as slimy as Jaime had felt when he was dancing with Hodor. Several bitches parted to make way for him, looking at Jaime all the while, as the master manager of the brothel swaggered out to the centre of the room.

"Salutations, Ser Lannister," Littlefinger said, tweaking his striking mustache. "What can I do for you today?" he looked at several giggling whores beside him, wearing clothes that had somehow, by some marvel of physics, failed to stay buttoned up.

"I, er..." Jaime looked nervously about himself. Most people in the place were looking at him, at least the ones who didn't have their tongues or any other body part locked into someone else's mouth.

"Have you, by any chance, come here for a _Really Nice Fuck_?" Petyr Baelish asked.

"Erm-"

"Excellent! Excellent!" he strutted forward and put an arm around Jaime's shoulder, and dragged him forward and around the tables of the large room, showing him _everything_ that was on display. "There are so many specials I can offer you. Lelia here," he pointed toward a woman who was running circles around a table, donning all but nothing. Why was she doing that? What kind of depraved bastard would be into it? She stopped, and looked longingly at Jaime the second Littlefinger mentioned her name. "Lelia offers the 'Littlefinger's Fingering Fun' Special edition experience!"

"I put the 'finger' in Littlefinger," Lelia said, attempting to sound seductive. Somehow, 'Littlefinger's Fingering Fun' made Jaime's gag reflex go wild. Littlefinger seemed to pick up on that, as a master if reading the tastes of his clients. He dragged Jaime away to another girl, one with blonde, lengthy hair. She could pass for Cersei, if it came to that. If he squinted his eyes tight and didn't look to closely, perhaps.

She smiled and opened her mouth to speak. Instantly whatever illusion there could have been was ruined,

"'ello, guv'na!" she chirruped, "searching for a fuck are ye?"

Jaime nearly vomited, right then, but then on second thought, it wasn't as bad as it seemed.

If Cersei did a voice like that, it would be totally hot. She could pretend to be a helpless, peasant farming maiden, while he-

"Not your type, eh? Something else can be arranged," Littlefinger's eyes started to glimmer, and he commanded the room with a snap of his fingers.

"Wait! I just wanted some money, be on my way to King's Landing! No need to-"

But all the hoes were circling around him now, drawing in closer and closer, trying to convince him that each one of them was ripe for the fucking. In the background, a couple of the patrons, who had now been left alone, we're steadily wanking. Yanking at their manhoods like there was nothing more natural in the world than twenty-odd half-naked women swarming a particularly handsome knight. This was the stuff of true fetishes, it was.

"Lord! Oh my Lord!"

"It would be my honour to serve you, in any way possible!"

"Tee hee!"

They were all chattering now, jostling for position in front of Jaime and Littlefinger. Jaime politely tried to find a path out of the group, but he was being blocked on all sides.

"Ser Lannister," Littlefinger suddenly addressed him, and the entire room went silent. "It seems that you are required to partake in _some_ sort of illicit activity with-"

"Lord Baelish!" a deep male voice shouted from the area around the door, quickly followed by the stomping of boots, and the gasping of every mouth. Jaime couldn't recognise who it was, nor see through the crowd of women who were deposited around him. When the stomping came nearer, however, they parted, some jittering about in fright.

In all honesty, in the presence of a man such as this, it seemed the wisest thing to do.

The stranger looked around the '_Place for a Really Nice Fuck_' with his one eye, uncovered socket rancid and gaping. Everyone seemed to cower under his gaze, apart from Littlefinger, that was.

Littlefinger just grinned, and Jaime felt a whole lot worse for it.

"Yes, my dearest Timett?" Baelish cooed back. Must have already known this mountain-worn man from somewhere. "What can I do for you?"

Timett examined Jaime thoroughly, standing before him. Looked him up and down with a greedy sneer behind his wicked features. Like he was a piece of meat to be bought for market, and nothing else. What was worse was the silence that set over the entire room, seeping into everyone's minds and making Jaime wish, not for the last time, that he'd just kept on running.

Then Timett turned back to Littlefinger, apparently having had his fill of glaring at Jaime. It felt a great weight taken off his shoulders, for a second.

But then he spoke.

Oh how Jaime would always wish he'd never spoke.

"How much," Timett growled at Petyr Baelish, "for a rumble with the Kingslayer?"

It was almost comedic. Littlefinger certainly laughed, and Jaime joined in as well. An awkward, disjointed laugh at a failed joke, was all it was.

"Ha Ha Ha!" Littlefinger chuckled, then all too quickly turned deadly serious, "Fifty silver."

Jaime shook himself out of the bitter jovial state, only barely processing what was going on.

"What?" he asked stupidly, unaware as to why Timett was already counting some stags out of his coin purse. Must have ordered a fuck.

He caught sight of the sheer quantity of coin that was being transferred. A really expensive fuck, by the look of it. Didn't think that Littlefinger's place was able to produce a fuck of that quality.

Timett's eye gleamed, and turned to face Jaime. Littlefinger happily nodded toward them.

"Go on, then," the lord nodded to the stairs leading to the second floor. Then he leaned into a stage whisper to Jaime "I'll let you keep half of it if you work well."

"What?!" Jaime asked incredulously, still completely unaware of what was going on.

"Come along, Lannister," Timett chuckled happily, giving Jaime a shove in the back, urging him toward the stairs. In a confused daze, Jaime ascended. Had Timett just paid for Jaime to have a complimentary fuck with one of the women. They both clomped up the steps, Timett shaking his head disbelievingly. If so, it had been awfully nice of him.

He thought about refusing, and going back downstairs, but he was already outside the bedroom doors now, and Timett had just paid all that money. Wouldn't be a polite thing to do, turn down the man's gift, even if he was a stranger with one bloodshot eye.

Timett pushed him through the door and into the decadently decorated room. It contained a bed, a large table, a counter, a rug, a mattress, and just about every other surface one could desire to be banged while lying upon. Surprisingly, Timett closed the door behind him. Somehow Jaime was reminded of his situation earlier today, the one with Hodor in the store room, but this was under a much lighter context.

"A fuck with the Kingslayer, eh?" Timett muttered to the room as he stepped inside, "I'm one lucky man."

"Yes, I must thank you for-"

Wait.

_What?_

Then it hit Jaime. There weren't any women up here. Just him and Timett. That meant that Littlefinger had just sold him! To this grizzled... hillman!

And for fifty silver stags, too. A little disappointing. Jaime would have expected to fetch at least a hundred, at the bare minimum. Cersei would have paid quadruple that, at least, for this kind of opportunity.

For now, though, he had more pressing things to worry about.

"Timett, please, listen to me," Jaime tried to reason, "I haven't consented to this, and-"

"I know!" Timett exclaimed, walking forward towards him, "that's what makes it all the more fun!"

Twice it would be in one day, then. It went without saying, that Jaime wasn't having a good day.

"The Kingslayer, wow." Jaime tried to calm him "He is a wonderful person, I understand why you would want to sleep with him. But, I beg of you-"

"Good. Beg, grovel, I like a man on his knees."

"You aren't thinking logically! My family is rich, they can pay you to back away. A Lannister always pays his debts."

"Does he now? Well, by agreeing to go upstairs, you are in debt to me. You owe me one night with Jaime Lannister, and I damn well intend to claim it."

Jaime decided that now might be an appropriate time to look for a way out. Timett must have caught him glancing frantically about himself, for he increased his speed.

"Nowhere to run, Lannister. Nowhere to hide."

And he was right. The window was boarded up, the door now locked. Jaime wished he'd brought his sword. But he had his golden armour with him, and that was some last resort protection, if needed.

Timett leaped at him and Jaime only managed to dodge with a yelp.

* * *

It would most certainly be needed.

Timett was certainly eager. Unexpectedly eager. Only slightly less eager than Hodor would have been.

"Oh he's a slippery one, he is!" Timett said, to no one in particular, as Jaime managed to wriggle out of his grasp for what felt like the hundredth time.

This time, there was no exaggeration. It was approximately, the hundredth time.

"GTFO!" Jaime shouted back at him.

That caused Timett to pause for a second, letting his grasping hands go limp.

"You wot?" Timett said. Jaime shrugged, and Timett continued his chase. Jaime leaped onto the sofa for what seemed the twentieth time, and then swerved around the oncoming Timett. It was really just a question of who would tire faster, who had the longest endurance; and Jaime had just run a near few leagues before coming into this stalemate.

Timett had the upper hand, as well. He didn't have to run around in heavy plate armour. He didn't have to run at all, he just had to make lumbering grasping swings towards Jaime in an attempt to catch him. Jaime thought he could try going on the offence, but how could he possibly do that? There was nothing around here that he could use as a weapon, no loose objects, no floorboards he could prize off. Perhaps he could try hitting Timett with a pillow, but Jaime had a sneaking suspicion that he might enjoy that. Plus, he was the uke, and couldn't possibly defend himself.

No, Jaime just had to keep running. And pray.

Jaime had never been a particularly religious man, so none of the Gods answered him, but something else, did.

Outside the door, he heard an infernal giggling of several voices. A couple women of questionable virtue, off to doubtless give someone a better time than he was having now. They walked along the corridor, dainty footfalls hardly making a sound.

But Littlefinger was walking with them, talking to someone else. He sounded nervous, as he damn well should have, selling off a knight of the Kingsguard to a filthy hillman.

"I think you ought to leave. You haven't the coin to pay for _any_ of our services, yet alone _Littlefinger's Fingering Fun_." but Jaime could tell he didn't really mean it, like he was trying to get the other man to leave. Timett took another shot at him, and he had to roll over on the floor to avoid his grip.

"Do not worry, my Lord Petyr Baelish," a familiar deep voice said, and Jaime's pouting frown instantly reversed when he heard it, "A Lannister always pays his debts."

All the will returned to him then, not to give up. He gave Timett a weak shove, all that he was able to manage, and ran for the door of the room, and started to ferociously pound on it.

"_Tyrion!_" he shouted, filling his voice with as much volume as he could "_I'm in here! Littlefinger sold me to a hillman for fifty stags!_"

Tyrion's tone quickly became serious, a rare occasion. Stunned, as if he couldn't believe what he'd just heard, he spoke.

"Only fifty silvers?" there was much shock in his voice, "I would think you'd go for at least two hundred and fifty, being a knight and everything."

He heard Littlefinger growl in frustration next to Tyrion.

"Get me out of here! Timett is about to-"

"Silence, slave!" Timett bellowed, "I've paid my fifty silvers, and I will have a fuck with the Kingslayer!" he demanded, reaching for Jaime, and this time managing to grab him successfully.

"Are you all right in there, Jaime?" Tyrion asked.

"_Fuck no!"_ Jaime hollered, being pressed down towards the floor, Timett on top of him.

There was a desperate rattling at the doorhandle, probably Tyrion's brave efforts.

"It's locked!" the dwarf proclaimed.

"Break it down!" Jaime suggested, voice quavering. Tyrion wouldn't be able to do anything, he was just a dwarf. Timett was now trying to fiddle with the buckles on his armour, and Jaime struggled as much as he could.

"No!" Littlefinger protested, "you can't help him, Imp, it's too late,"

"_Run for help, Tyrion!_" Jaime screamed, voice taking a higher pitch with each speech. Timett pressed his face closer to Jaime's, brought out a decaying, fleshy tongue, and licked the Kingslayer's cheek.

"I like it when they squeal!" Timett murmured, only loud enough for Jaime to hear.

Really, he should have tried to help it. Should have stopped himself, for it only gave Timett pleasure all the more. Timett wanted him to scream like a little pussy girl, and scream like a little pussy girl Jaime did.

"Cersei's downstairs! I'll get her to help!" Tyrion said, before his little footsteps pattered away down the hall.

Now Cersei would see him like this. What would she think? In his time of weakness, in his time of utter, raw desperation, resulting to shrieking and crying for help.

If she ever asked, he would say that he did it for her, yes, that was a good thought. Say that he kept himself pure and non-violent in this situation in order to defend the Lannister honour.

The Lannister honour, however, was about to be violated, as Timett had managed to get one of his shoulder straps off.

Tyrion still didn't return. Cersei wouldn't be able to do much, anyway. She would only stand at the door, listening to the shrieks of her brave lover, being forced to the ground by a rowdy hillman.

This was it. The second buckle came off, and the breastplate with it. Timett peeled it slowly off his skin, and it hurt like a burn. Jaime couldn't remember the last time he'd taken his armour off, and he never wanted to do it again. By now it was all but fused to his skin, and this mishap was ruining that legacy.

"Ow!" Jaime yelped. It was like peeling away the stickiest band aid in the world. Except, there were no band aids in the seven kingdoms, so his armour was probably the second stickiest thing.

But the breastplate was just the start, next Timett reached for his leg armour, and started to fiddle with the catch. He all but had it off, and Jaime was near completely naked, when by the largest stroke of luck, a blundering sound of heavy stomps came from the end of the corridor. It was accompanied by a light pattering of feet, and the clacking of cheap heels.

"Jaime!" Cersei's concerned, dear voice called out to him. Such worry in her words, such love.

"If I don't make it, Cersei..." Jaime started.

"Don't say that, Jaime! You will live another day, you will," she broke into a burst of tears outside the door. Jaime loved it when bitches cried over him, but he couldn't relish the emotion right now, the water was already streaming out of his own eyes.

The lumbering stomp finally reached the door, and Jaime realised what it was. For a second, he'd hoped it was some bodyguard, perhaps the Mountain. _Anyone_ other than who it was. Then, even more so, he realised that he was all but completely naked, and that the owner of those footsteps would very much appreciate that.

"Go away," Jaime demanded, sobbing, "I'll be fine. I've managed to get Timett off me," he wailed. Anything. _Anything _other than let that man inside right now.

"No he hasn't!" Timett confirmed, "quit trying to be brave, laddie, and lie still, I can hardly get the trousers off of yer,"

Cersei cried all he harder.

The heavy footfall came all the way up to the door, and Jaime wished that the Lannisters had never attempted to rescue him, that he'd just been given half the share of Timett's payment, and had been on his way to King's Landing by now. But nothing could ever be so simple. Not with the most complicated man in the world standing behind the door.

The giant burst it open in an explosion of wood, splinters of the door flickering around the room like snow. Light shone down onto Jaime and Timett, and the figure looked down at them, stupid, happy smile still on his face.

"Hodor," said Hodor.

Hodor pulled Timett off of Jaime and flung him to the corner of the room, running after him. He grabbed Timett's skull and pounded it against the thick wall, once, twice, three times. The hillman quickly fell into unconsciousness, and slumped against the ground in a ragdoll heap.

Now he could see Cersei, staring at him from that hollow doorway, looking so disappointed. Tyrion was next to her, arms folded sternly. The queen dried her tears, and was about to offer Jaime a hand to help him stand up, when he felt something scooping him up from below. Quickly, as his first instinct, he hugged the dislodged piece of breastplate armour close to his chest, the thing he loved most, and what would be with him until the end.

He felt himself being lifted off the ground by two meaty, calloused, hairy arms, and carried like a baby out of the room. He looked up at the face of the tall stable hand that was carrying him, and Hodor looked back.

"Hodor." Hodor whispered, loud enough so only Jaime could hear.

Thank the fucking Gods he couldn't understand.

Hodor carried him from the room, from the brothel, and away from an astounded Littlefinger. The three Lannisters – or perhaps four, stood outside, in various states of mental decay.

"Why were you in there, Tyrion?" Jaime asked in a frightful voice.

"You know..." the dwarf said, "It did say _Really Nice Fuck_ on the outside,"

Well he understood that. Tyrion spent most of his time in places like that. What he didn't know the answer to, however, was his next question.

"And Cersei, why were _you_ there?" Jaime asked, still in Hodor's loving arms.

"Well, you see. Tyrion suggested a family outing, and I couldn't exactly refuse. After all, it's been months since you and I-"

Jaime laughed, laughed in depression, laughed in defeat. The woman he loved, or at least was somewhat attracted to, went to a brothel in place of him. A grim thought that didn't bode well for the Lannister futures.

"Cersei, we can have a _Really Nice Fuck _any time you want. I'm the Kingslayer! These things aren't taxing on me," Cersei's face seemed to light up a little at that, as it bloody well should have. "In fact, it might be a little better than just _Really Nice_, because-"

"Hodor." Hodor shut him off, angrily. Didn't seem to like the idea of Jaime sleeping with Cersei, somehow. Figured.

So the Lannisters returned to Casterly Rock, Jaime not having the effort to protest much any more.

"Jaime!" Tywin cried, coming to greet his wet, shivering, half naked son in Hodor's arms as if it was nothing more than a casual hello. Joanna was at his side, as she always was, and Jaime had come to hate her smile.

Jaime, Hodor and their parents were at the gates of Casterly Rock, and Jaime wished above all that Cersei and Tyrion hadn't left.

"What happened to you, Jaime? We were worried sick. Broken window, accidental fall," _accidental? _"Running leagues away to some run down brothel," Tywin cooed. Hodor started to stroke Jaime's hair, running his grubby fingers through his precious locks. It was absolutely the least comforting thing Jaime had ever felt.

"Hodor," Jaime stammered, "Hodor saved me from a difficult situation. I was being... assaulted by a feral hillman, and Hodor came to my rescue,"

"So I have heard from Tyrion." Tywin moved forward, and joined in with Hodor's stroking of his hair, although what he was doing was less like Hodor's heavy petting. "You really owe your brother a great favour, he has saved your honour."

"Hodor." Hodor agreed.

Jaime was a more than a little distressed at this moment, so he might not have been thinking so clearly, but there was one thing he was sure about. One thing he could never let go of. One fact that everyone refused to see.

What Hodor had done to his life was far closer to ruining it than doing any saving. He looked up at his giant brother, and the giant grinned all the wider.

Jaime dreaded exactly what sort of '_great favour_' he now owed Hodor.


	4. Fire and Hodor

**WARNING:**

**This is ****_not_**** a better love story than Twilight.**

* * *

Jaime ducked behind a wall, peering carefully around it, watching to see if anyone was coming in the opposite direction. Thankfully, the coast was completely clear.

It was early morning in the glorious castle of Casterly Rock. Very early morning, far before anyone else might be awake. Yet Jaime made his way through the winding towers of rooms, courtyards, halls and porches that made up their great citadel, walking on the tips of his toes, in

the best sneaky style he could manage.

He tried very hard not to make a noise, but his golden armour was still creaking like the bed springs at King's Landing with each step, so he had to be on his guard.

Just as he was about to step out and move on, a servant passed, carrying a giant bushel of wheat towards the kitchens. Quickly, Jaime retreated back behind the courtyard wall. They couldn't see him, no one could.

For if a single person knew where he was in Casterly Rock, they would tell Hodor.

Once the servant passed, Jaime darted straight through the cobblestones yard and into a low ceilinged doorway that led inside. No one had seen him yet, the risky journey he now took was going well.

Jaime stealthed down along the corridor, sucking his breath in as he placed a foot on a creaky floorboard. The sound wasn't so bad, but he darted hurridely away from the scene as quickly as he could. He went down many turns and paths in the castle, getting to the very heart of where the family lived, somewhere Jaime hadn't visited in a while.

For three long months he'd hidden inside Casterly Rock, and in that time, he'd gotten very good at evading his youngest, most rape desiring brother. At the start, he tried to escape the citadel on a daily basis, but the guard patrols at the main gate always reeled him back inside at the last minute, so he resolved to hide until he came up with a better plan. Stealing food from the kitchen was not difficult, since Hodor's coming meant that the family had to prepare far more food. He also knew a lot of rooms in Casterly Rock that hadn't been used for years. As children, he and Cersei had explored the entire place. While exploring each other, of course. That went without saying. It wasn't really curiosity that drove them to find the most remote places in the castle, more a desire for... a little _private_ time.

Jaime hadn't had private time for three months as he camped in a crusty, picked over, disused bedroom, towards the bottom floor. Mostly spent the time worrying about his life, lusting after Cersei, and reading this strange yaoi porn that he'd found in a maid's bedside table. She'd written it herself, and it was a pairing between him and Hodor. Him and Hodor! Everyone from Winterfell to Lannisport must have known about Hodor's urges by now.

Gods! He wasn't a Tyrell!

Now he was in the most familiar part of the castle, the rooms he spent most of his time in. Studies, living rooms, more dining areas. The double doors to the great mead hall passed by on his left, and he paused there for a while, listening to the most recent rendition of _The Rains of Castamere_.

After it finished, however, he tried to drag himself away. He needed to go to the armoury, that was the whole point of this mission! To the armoury to get some more polish for his golden breastplate, since he'd accidentally scuffed it yesterday night. Quickly, he began to stride away. Towards the armoury, towards clean armour.

He would never make it more than a couple steps.

At that instant the door to the mead hall creaked open, and Jaime panicked. There was nowhere to hide in this corridor in front of the doors. The tapestries were too high up on the walls, he couldn't squirrel himself away under a bench, he couldn't even rush up and hide on the ceiling, clinging to the chandelier like they do in comedic spy movies.

How Jaime wished he was in a comedic spy movie.

He prepared himself to bolt, but then he caught a glimpse of the figure who opened the door, staring wistfully down at him from ten strides away. She stared at him, looking sad like the days after she married Robert, depressed beyond measure. Her hair seemed less a brilliant golden ray and more a dull yellow one.

Cersei met his eyes, and they didn't speak. She just seemed disappointed as she stood outside the Lannister hall.

Jaime remembered reading something about comforting the emotions of others. Especially women. Especially women who you cared for. Especially if you wanted any of dat puss in the late hours of the night. Perhaps he should compliment her, say how beautiful she looked to him, even now.

Don't ever say that Jaime Lannister isn't the most compassionate man in the Seven Kingdoms, you would be so horribly wrong.

"Damn, girl!" Jaime said to her, clicking his fingers snappily, and looking her up and down, "you is looking fine!"

Cersei just broke out into sobbing tears. His comment must have been so beautiful that she was overwhelmed with love for him, the grief clear in her cry. Truly, he had a way with the ladies.

"Cersei?" he heard a voice coming from inside the hall, accompanied by two pairs of footsteps, quickly approaching the door. Must've been drawn out by Cersei's sobs. "Are you all right, my darling?"

Tywin stepped out from behind the door Cersei had opened, and began to pat her awkwardly on the shoulder. Joanna was, of course, right next to him, and the old hag participated in a mantra of "It will be all right, Cersei, me love," neither of them looked toward Jaime, neither of them noticed the literal knight in shining armour down the hall.

"What is wrong, daughter?" Tywin asked. Cersei's crying stifled the words, but the topic was clear enough.

"It's Jaime... He's-" it seemed as if she could hardly stomach the pronunciation of the words. Women really _did_ swoon in his presence! He would have to pay a visit to Cersei's chambers today.

"I know, Cersei." Tywin tried to comfort her, although from the way he said it, it was blatantly obvious that he did _not_ know.

Jaime was just about to try and slip away, before Tywin or Joanna noticed him. As sorrowful as it was to leave his beloved in a deteriorating condition such as this, he promised her he would try his very best to come back for some fucking later.

The promise of the fucking would not be fulfilled.

It was a little too lucky, that Jaime might be able to get out of this situation without being caught. That he would be able to live though this brush with death. Therefore, he wasn't really all that disappointed as one more set of those lumbering, heavy clomping footfalls that he knew so well came from the hall. Just seemed inevitable, really.

Hodor appeared in the doorway next to the other members of his family. The immensely strange thing, was that he didn't even spare a glance for the weeping Cersei. Didn't care what emotional crisis was occurring. Through some miracle. He looked straight past it, and looked straight at Jaime, directly into the eyes of the Kingslayer.

And the Kingslayer trembled with Hodor's mighty gaze. Beady, piggy, _peasantly_ eyes that were scrunched up at the edges with a smile. The demonic smile which he often donned around Jaime. Like he'd never seen anything more joyous in the world than the knight of the kinsguard in front of him.

"Hodor," said Hodor, and immediately proceeded to push Tywin and Cersei out of the way, throwing them to the side, before gaining momentum and charging at full speed towards Jaime.

Jaime tried to run, but it was in vain. He felt all these three months of work, of planning, of hiding, crumbling down around him as Hodor gripped him in a loving bear hug. It was all over, his dreams of escaping anal assault from this Hodoring nightmare. The giant tackled him to the ground, and Jaime hit the floor with a heavy thud. He suspected that he cushioned Hodor's own fall a great deal, as the stable hand landed weightily on top of him, pinning him o the ground and crushing his pelvis to the floor. By the Gods, Jaime was so great full that Hodor didn't try to take him then and there.

Their faces met, the warmth of Hodor's body pressed up astoundingly close to his. It was one of the most unpleasant experiences Jaime lived through, and he had jumped out of a hundred stride high window a couple months ago.

This was far worse. Hodor looked at him with terrifying closeness, nuzzling his dirty face against Jaime's in a way that must have passed to Tywin as affection.

"Hodor!" Hodor squee'd.

"GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!" Jaime yelled at the top of his lungs, which was a massive sound.

"Hodor," Hodor giggled back.

* * *

It wasn't fair! It just wasn't fair, damn it! Why did Cersei get to skip this council to talk with _her_friends when Jaime still had to be next to dirty, terrifying, aroused Hodor? And Tyrion. Where was he? Just because Jaime was heir didn't mean that he had to attend all these boring meetings.

Well, he'd considered them boring until Hodor's arrival. Now he was kept to attention by the giant's constant grabbing for his crotch under the table.

Why him? Was it, like, something personal, or what?

"The Queen has stayed for too long at Casterly Rock!" one of Tywin's advisors, a sir or somebody with a banner, family, and five hundred years of ancestry, no doubt. Jaime wanted to assign a name to him, but was very worried if that might mean he'd incorporated an OC. Above everything else, Jaime's honour wouldn't be so soiled as to have an OC in his POV chapters of a trashy fanfiction.

If Kevan was here, things would be a lot easier, but Jaime had accidentally opened up the wiki and read about his death. Should never have gone on that site. Could never stop himself from looking at spoilers, when the events of Game Of Thrones hadn't even happened yet.

"She must return to Baratheon, he wises to seek out a new hand, and travel to Winterfell," the advisor droned.

They were all sat down a long table in one of the Lannister halls. Thirty or so of Tywin's most trusted followers. And Joanna. And Hodor. Ever since Jaime had been but a 'wee little pumpkin', as Joanna would say, he'd been forced to attend his father's sessions of politicking. This particular advisor was a sneering one, with a balding pate and what little grey hair he had left turning white. Not fat, but not as thin as a lanky twig. Jaime was grateful he himself wasn't thin as a lanky twig. Being the uke would have been far easier if he was skinny as shit, and Jaime intended to put up as much of a fight as possible.

"No." Tywin rejected firmly, gathering the attention of every chattering lord along the expensively polished table in the massive hall. Hodor, sitting uncomfortably close next to him, made another snatch for the area between his legs while no one was looking. Jaime swerved out of the way, and, not for the last time, thanked his golden armour under his breath. 'Thank you, my precious,' he whispered to the plating.

"Cersei cannot continue to the homestead of the Starks. She is required in Casterly Rock!" Tywin demanded.

Bit of a blunt statement, that.

"Why though, my liege?" the advisor insisted. Tywin looked as if he were about to try and explain, but just gave up. Joanna kept on grinning dumbly next to him. A trait which seemed to run in the family. Wait, didn't that mean that Jaime ought to grin stupidly as well?

"I cannot say. The plans for the future of the Lannisters will be revealed soon. Tonight, in fact. But I cannot determine if Cersei will be able to depart, or not."

"The plans for the Lannisters?" another bannerman piped up. Really the bannermen were five for a copper coin.

"Yes. Another arrangement. Something more important to our dear Cersei than the whims of the king!" Tywin finished with a smile. A large cheer broke out across the entire table. Some even broke out into a chorus of '_The Rains of Castamere_'. That thing was so popular it should have been hitting the Lannisport top iTunes charts.

In the midst of it all, Jaime's mind churned around and around, while Hodor's hand fumbled and fumbled playfully under the tablecloth. Jaime had to ignore it, however. This was important, he knew it was important.

"STOP!" he yelled, standing up and sending Hodor's hand flying away. His chair screeched back against the flagstones, and the entire hall went silent. "Cersei has to go with Robert to Winterfell. And so do I, and Tyrion, too." there was no response, Jaime found that he was breathing heavily, "Don't you understand? If I don't go to Winterfell, the Stark boy will never see me doing the hanky panky with Cersei! And I will never push him from the window! And the war will never begin! We will have a complete alternate universe setting here, any idea how ridiculous that can get?"

Everyone looked at him as if he was a madman. Shouldn't blame him. _He'd_ read the books, while they hadn't even watched the TV series. They weren't even minor fans, while Jaime had stuck through all the complicated lists of names for _seven_ tomes!

"It's all right, Jaime, it's all right," Tywin grabbed his arm from across the table and ushered him to sit back down, "we can convince Robert to postpone until after the big day. Perhaps he will even choose to visit."

"Big day?" Jaime echoed surprisedly. He couldn't think of any days that were particularly big, except the ones in the summer. But they were long days, not big ones. "W-what do you mean?"

Tywin tapped the side of his nose knowingly before dismissing the meeting with a wave of his hand.

"The meeting is dismissed!" Tywin proclaimed. There was some fucking imaginative writing going on here, for sure. Jaime didn't stick around to criticise his father's choice of words, however, as he was fully intent on escaping before he could be tied down with Hodor. Tywin always managed to find a way to get him to do some errand with the stable hand. His father always ended up having them perform that errand alone, without a witness of any form. And Hodor always managed to place them both in an area with a secure lock.

Hodor seemed to trail after him a few steps from when he stood up, but was soon called into a conversation with Joanna. What a thrilling, eloquent exchange that must have been, but Jaime resisted every urge to go and snobbishly judge their vocabulary. He may not be a woman, far from it if you compared him to Cersei, but he still had a butthole, and definitely didn't like the way that Hodor stared at it.

That and the man had tried to rape him.

Jaime ran from the meeting hall, armour clinking happily along with his step. There was much mention of rape in the Song of Ice and Fire series. It was quite a bad thing to be getting on with. Sometimes it would be Dothraki on peasant, wildling on girl, all sorts of wonderful variety, each a horrifyingly scarring experience that often ended up in serious or fatal injury on the receiver's end. But Jaime remembered the menacing, frenzied, insane, feral look on Hodor's face when he'd come after Jaime, and the Kingslayer decided that was the most terrible, gritty and violent scene of them all.

And so he ran, only delaying the unspoken inevitable.

When he arrived in Tyrion's study, the dwarf was already drunk. Screw that, it wasn't even a study. It might have been, once, but Tyrion had dragged the term 'study' to its very limit.

Now, what defined a study? There were books on the shelves, to be sure. There was a desk underneath the window. Plenty of pieces of parchment, quills and ink were present, but the similarities ended there.

The bookcases literally had cobwebs over them, just a piece of decor, the volumes weren't anything to be read. The desk was brimming with forms, but those weren't sheets and documents the Imp had filled out, they were scraps and pieces of loose paper, scattered and torn everywhere. The ink was spilled over, staining half the desk and pouring onto the floor. Someone surely should have cleaned it up, but Jaime suspected that Tyrion didn't allow for such things. Any quills or pens that tried to survive in the harsh environment that was the desktop were snapped in half, or rolling around on the floorboards.

Generally, it looked as if a fair deal of fucking had happened on top of that desk. The Imp himself sat behind it, on a specially raised chair. Somehow, for a reason Jaime couldn't entirely comprehend, he was sporting a purple hat with a feather, and a chain with a golden dragon coin on the end of it.

"Come on in, Jaimey!" Tyrion ushered Jaime away from his current lurking in the doorway, "there's room for one more, at least!"

Oh yes, there were also five or six unnamed whores inside in various states of undress, beauty, position and consciousness. Did Jaime forget to mention that? One was slumped behind the door, acting effectively like a doorstop. Jaime moved into Tyrion's 'study' looking for a place to sit. There were a couple of extremely expensive antique chairs, but they were occupied by a woman who'd had altogether too much Milk Of The Poppy, and Jaime didn't feel like trying to move her. Jaime stepped in front of his brother's desk timidly, Tyrion hopping up from the chair.

"I'll get you a drink,"

The dwarf moved toward the dusty bookcase, pushed it aside to reveal a secret compartment. That compartment was a large hole in the wall, filled to the absolute brim with every type of drink Jaime could imagine. There was beer, grog, wine, vodka, hooch, and several sorts of concoction that Jaime didn't even recognise. He could comfortably say that what he saw before him was the highest concentration of alcohol in such a small place Jaime had ever seen. In fact, it was probably more alcohol than he'd ever seen outside of a drinking competition. A true miracle of science that the bottles all managed to stay on their shelves. There might have even been some fog seeping from that stash behind the bookcase.

"You need to supply booze for an army, Tyrion?" Jaime jested.

"No," the dwarf replied, grabbing a dirty mug and getting himself a full glass of whiskey, "just myself, and my lovely guests here," he handed a drink to Jaime, "we drink _far_ more,"

One of the whores that Jaime hadn't seen before giggled before slumping abruptly back beneath the desk. He inspected his drink. It was in a tall glass and not a large quantity. What was stranger was the vibrant yellow colour, and the tiny little umbrella Tyrion had placed in it. There were pieces of ice that Tyrion had somehow managed to acquire in the sweltering heat of Lannisport floating around inside.

"What is this witchcraft?" Jaime exclaimed, staring down at the fruity concoction.

"It's called a piña colada, Jaime," Tyrion explained, "I thought you would like it,"

Jaime took a tentative, careful sip.

It tasted good. It tasted very good indeed.

"I could always get you a Margherita or a Cosmo if you wanted,"

"No!" Jaime snapped, quickly taking another draught of the drink. It was so playful! He could hardly refuse its colourful charm!

Tyrion chuckled to himself.

"Thought you'd like it. Now, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

The piña colada had brought back a lot of Jaime's manly courage, so he scooped a whore off the chair and placed it before Tyrion's desk.

Sitting upon it, he swirled the drink around in his left hand. Made him feel very powerful, and strong. The piña colada was truly the drink of a man with an iron stomach. He noticed that Tyrion had already finished his whiskey, and was making a grab for the bottle.

"It's... Cersei," Jaime said, turning melancholy.

"Not enough penetration on your part?"

"WHAT?"

"Oh come _on_! Everyone knows about you and her! You probably mentioned it a couple chapters ago and can't be bothered to go back and read it again for consistency."

"No! Of course you know about me and Cersei," that wasn't the reason for Jaime's reaction, "remember when I first fucked her! We were young ones, not ten years of age. I came straight out and told you all about it as soon as it was over."

"Hadn't even put your clothes on properly," Tyrion mused at the memory.

"Precisely. I not shocked that you know of our... liaisons. What I don't understand, however, is why you think I'm not getting any action from our dear sister?"

Tyrion took a long swig from his whiskey The whore underneath the desk tried to get up again, but Tyrion bashed her on the head with the

base of the bottle, rendering her unconscious once again.

"It's obvious, isn't it?" the Imp said. "Cersei isn't giving you any because you've, er, replaced her."

"How have I replaced her?" Jaime objected angrily, slamming the empty piña colada glass down onto one of the few clean sections of the desk.

"Well, you know..."

"I most certainly don't!"

"You've got, er, Hodor now." Tyrion adjusted the brim on his purple hat.

What in Seven Hells was the man thinking? Jaime and Hodor? He would prefer to sleep with Loras Tyrell! Or the Mountain! Or someone ridiculous and random that he'd never met. Say, for instance, Brienne of Tarth.

"I don't like Hodor!" Jaime squealed in rage. Tyrion looked doubtful. "I wish he had never come to Casterly Rock! I wish he would go and rot in the King's dungeon,"

"Brother? But you seemed to happy to dance with him all those nights ago." Tyrion replied incredulously.

"Did I really look _fucking_ happy to you?"

"Yes. You had gritted teeth, barely suppressed smile, feverish movement, clinging on tightly as you were swept away by our brother. All the signs of passion." Jaime wondered what sort of kinky things were going on in Tyrion's study for him to call those expressions, 'signs of passion'.

Jaime just shook his head and stood up to leave. Most sadly, he didn't even have Tyrion to talk to any more. Everyone was intoxicated by Hodor's silver tongue and raw animal appeal. Everyone besides Jaime.

"Goodbye, Tyrion. If you see Cersei, tell her she has a nice ass from me."

"No. Don't leave! I'll get you a Sex on the Beach! We can get drunk, and go on a stag party!" Tyrion protested, smashing his whiskey bottle against the desk over and over again with a thump.

"Why would we go on a stag party?" Jaime asked, genuinely wanting to know.

"For the wedding, of course!"

"Which wedding?" Jaime inquired again, patience growing thin. His brother was already drunk, and he'd just had another bottle of whiskey to top it all off right before Jaime's eyes.

"Yours, of course!" Tyrion burped. He looked at the liquor stash, clearly yearning to return to it as quickly as he could. Jaime scoffed.

"Who am I marrying, pray?"

"Cersei, of course! So we can all be happy. So that your love lasts through the ages, so that-" Tyrion's head slumped forward onto his sticky, dirty desk, a surface that Jaime wouldn't tough for a hundred stags. His brother began to snore, and Jaime didn't have a choice but to leave him be.

When he'd but turned to leave, some movement caught the corner of his eye. The whore from underneath the desk was dragging Tyrion down off the chair and towards her, both of them soon disappearing from sight.

As he left his brother, thoughts of marriage with Cersei filled his head. On one hand, it would be wonderful. They could fuck whenever, and wherever. If a little boy such as, Bran Stark, for example (he wasn't sure why he chose Bran Stark. The lad just seemed to be the appropriate sort for these things) watch them make sweet love, it wouldn't matter. Surely, the boy would be scarred from the intensity of the experience, but nothing would go awry.

On the other hand, such action would quickly produce children. Ones that Jaime would have to account for. Ones that Jaime would have to pay attention to, and look after, and occasionally listen to the speech of.

Any self respecting pervert such as himself didn't want such things.

Jaime traveled on. Now blissfully unaware of the horrors that would occur come a few hours later. He may have felt tormented by Hodor then, but everything was about to become, far, unspeakably worse. Jaime's life was about to be ruined. Everything he'd built for himself, all the happy memories, would soon fall to pieces.

He would get to polish his armour one last time before his emotional death, however. A beautiful ending to his despairing dreams.

* * *

"Jaime!" Tywin yelled, bursting into the armoury with the speed of a raging direwolf. "Jaime! I cannot prolong this any longer!"

Jaime _had _been sitting on his familiar bench in the armoury, his niche between the jousting poles and the suits of armour. That happy bench which he stashed extra emergency pots or armour polish underneath. But it seemed that Tywin wanted to remove him from his personal paradise of making that golden plating glisten. That was pretty much all Jaime wanted in life, a good bang with Cersei, and polishing his armour afterward. Not before, because it would get all messy during the steamy lovemaking they engaged in.

Oh, and he wanted to rule the Seven Kingdoms, of course. That was what all Lannisters wanted to do. It's what his father had drummed into his head for years and years. That he should only stop when he was king, or in total control of Westeros. Something like that.

He put down his polishing rag as Tywin flung back the door to the armoury and came storming inside, right in front of him, with a vigour Jaime hadn't seen in his father for years. Tywin was now breathing heavily, and leaned back to rest against the table of swords and bows, upsetting several quivers arrows straight onto the floor.

"Are you going to exile Joanna and Hodor from Casterly Rock, and subsequently Lannisport, and the entire Westerlands?" Jaime asked, hopefully. Why else would his father run to him like this? It must be something dramatic. Tywin must have finally realised that Joanna wasn't his wife, and that Hodor wasn't just extending brotherly affection towards Jaime.

Tywin spent an agonisingly long amount of time regaining his breath, and Jaime waited, anticipating what he would say with more excitement than he'd felt for years. Certainly since he'd not competed in any jousting tournaments recently. Certainly since Cersei hadn't been giving him any recently, as well. He even found himself crossing gauntleted fingers in a prayer to the Gods.

"Hur, hur, hur," Tywin breathed. Jaime wondered if he should go an get an inhaler. Nope, he'd almost forgotten. That wasn't possible at all! They were in the Seven Kingdoms, and the inhaler was a Dothraki invention.

"Father? Please?! Are you sending Hodor away?"

Tywin got up from his seat on the uncomfortable table, and spoke, Jaime's heart leaping as he opened his mouth.

"Nope." shit. A happy smile spread across Tywin's face, "I had you worried there, boy? It's so sweet how you're concerned for Hodor before anyone else."

"That, ah isn't the case. Truly you misunderstand, Father," Jaime tried to cover the damage that had been done, as his stomach sank with the dreadful sadness that the continuous presence of Hodor incited.

"Such modesty as well. You really ought to be Commander of the Kingsguard."

"Well. Halfway through, chapter fourty or so, when Robert's dead and Cunt Prince Joffrey's king."

"What are you talking about, Jaime?"

"Nothing. Just my insane, worried blatherings about Hodor's welfare," Jaime sighed. Tywin patted him on the shoulder.

"I have something very important to tell you, son. It will affect your future for years to come, and that of all the Westerlands," Jaime's mood perked up with that. Perhaps there would be a battle of some sorts that he was required to participate in.

"I'm ready for everything, my lord," Jaime said, leaping full speed toward any chance he might get to leave the Rock.

Tywin chuckled in joy. "Of course you are. You're the best of my seed. Unlike that filth Tyrion," Jaime recalled their discussion earlier today. He didn't think that Tyrion was doing anything to be complained about. In fact, he wanted another piña colada right now. In celebration of his departure from Lannisport. "You've always done me proud. Securing the future of the kingdom. Making sure a Lannister sits on the throne. No one besides you could have done it."

"Thank you, Father," Jaime said, wishing the old man would get on with it. He didn't want to spend a minute more in this hell hole than he had to.

"Now, this is very serious, and I beg you to pay the most attention you are able to when you listen," Tywin said.

"What?" Jaime didn't hear what he'd said. He'd been busy thinking about which brothel in King's Landing he would go to first, "didn't catch a word of that. Say again?"

Tywin sat down slowly on the bench next to him, and smiled kindly. A _very_ uncommon expression. One Jaime had only seen a handful of times, but it was becoming far more frequent with Hodor's arrival. He sighed, and the two of them sat there in silence for a moment, before Tywin finally spoke up.

"You remember when we had that... talk, when you were a lad? About seven or eight? The one about the future of the Lannister bloodlines?"

"Yes?" now _that_ had been a good day. "The one where Cersei was there as well?"

"That's right,"

"The one where you showed us that anatomically correct puppet exactly what we were supposed to do? The one that had a blonde wig on, so it looked a little like her?"

"The very same."

"When you gave us all those books to read that had previously only been in the 'grown up library' and told us to study them in depth as soon as possible, and practise on each other?"

"You seem to remember it quite well," Tywin said, seeming a little embarrassed by Jaime's recountings. Well, it _had_ been one of the best days of his life. Or should he say, one of the best nights?

"Well, this is a little like that. You know how important it is that the bloodline is always purely Lannister?"

"Of course!"

"I have something drastic for you to take in. Related, of course. A pleasant surprise. I would tell you to sit down, but-" Jaime was getting excited now. Would Tywin finally give him permission to kill Robert? Take the throne, and the queen with it? Have a week long fucking marathon, and not even come outside for the coronation? He'd dreamed of the day for years. His whole life!

"Please! Tell me!" Jaime urged.

Tywin shook his head somberly. "I knew how upset you were when Cersei married Robert. You wanted to marry her yourself. You used to love her as well, not just the sex, but her personality. A rare love in Westeros, the truest kind," _used to?! _"and in a different situation, you would be long married to your sister. If it were up to love, she would never have bedded the oaf Baratheon. That was a political marriage of necessity, and you and Cersei suffered because of it. Your love died. You could never be together."

Jaime was just stunned. No! That wasn't how it was at all! They were still very much in love! Completely! He should stop before he went any further, and rectify Tywin's thoughts. But he didn't. Couldn't pluck up the courage. His father had just said that he and Cersei could never be married. That called for an appropriate amount of moping.

"I'm going to make sure that we don't make that same mistake again. That you and your lover's dreams aren't crushed like Targaryen skulls,"  
He was giving Jaime and Cersei another chance? Perhaps he really intended for them to marry after all!

Jaime's face must have visibly lit up, since Tywin let out another satisfied chuckle.

"That's right, Jaime. Unfortunately, your sister is married to Robert, and it is high time that you were partnered. The Lannister family must be untainted. Therefore, I'm going to allow your love to blossom."

Tywin looked him dead in the eyes, and Jaime felt an unexpected warmth grow inside of him. He would marry Cersei. He would have the happy ending they'd desired for years.

"Therefore," Tywin said, "you will be marrying Hodor,"

Jaime fell off the bench and was down on his knees, staring up at the bricked ceiling of the armoury. Screaming at the gods, screaming at the heavens above, light from the window illuminating his suffering figure.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Jaime shouted. "Gods, gods! What have you done to me? I have been but your servant!" tears were streaming down his cheeks, and flooding in little puddles on the bumpy floor. He placed his head in his hands, fingers scraping desperately through his hair. "Deliver me from this! It cannot be true! Lies, lies!" he laughed a sour, bitter, crazed laugh, "it is all untruth!" he swiveled around to face his father, and clasped his gauntlets together to make a begging fist. He grovelled and pleaded snivelled.

"I beg for mercy, Tywin! You cannot ask me to do such a thing!" he wrapped his arms around his father in a sobbing hug. "Please. Please. This isn't happening. I will wake up, and Hodor will disappear with the morning! Tell me it will happen!"

But Tywin chuckled again, grappling Jaime into a tighter hug.

"This, raw, passionate emotion is what is so beautiful about you and Hodor. You think your relationship is too good to be real, that it must be a dream. You're a true romantic, Jaime, a truer one I have never seen. Your love is special, something you so rarely find in the Seven Kingdoms. My reunion with Joanna has reminded me of what that can feel like," he held Jaime in front of him, and wiped a tear from his eye, even though the water was soon replaced by more, "Such luck, my child. You and Hodor will be so happy!"

"Father! Drum this into your thick, fat, fucking head! I don't want to marry Hodor!" Jaime bawled, knowing it was completely hopeless.

"Of course you do. I'm giving you my permission. It will be completely legitimate! You two won't have to fear about being caught in the act, for it's just something that a good husband and wife do!"

"Who is the _wife_, Father?! This is wrong. I'm not Loras Tyrell. I'm not Loras Tyrell. I'm not Loras Tyrell. I'm not-"

"Of course you aren't, my boy. You're Jaime Lannister. Soon to be spouse of Hodor Lannister. The wedding is next week." he gently placed Jaime back down onto the bench, leaving him a crying mess, shaking with racking blubbering. He stood up, "That's the big day I've been talking about. Cersei can't leave now, she has to be the bridemaid! She wouldn't disappear before her own brother's wedding."

"Hodor tried to rape me!" Jaime protested, words barely intelligible through his cracking voice.

"He he!" Tywin giggled, "don't get too eager before the marriage, it isn't long now. Only a few more days to wait. Try to keep yourselves in check, I won't have any illegitimate couplings in my halls."

"_Send Hodor to the Night's Watch! I beseech you, Father! Make sure he never tries to have sex with anyone again,_" he would never bother Jaime again. Everything would be perfect.

"I have to go and tend to things! Make sure that your big day goes smoothly," Tywin tittered, and scampered out through the door,

"Please..." Jaime reached toward him helplessly with one hand, but his father was gone.

Forget the dancing.

_This _was a nice gods-damn mess he'd gotten himself into.

"Please..." he whispered again.

Fuck the nice gods-damn mess:

This was the most horrible day of Jaime Lannister's life. And this was the most fucking atrocious event in the history of all Westeros. Worse than the Red Wedding, this was the wedding with Hodor. Even though it hadn't happened yet, and Jaime hadn't lived through the time of it, he'd prefer to survive a hundred Red Weddings than one with Hodor.

And that was just the day of the wedding. Jaime let out another howl of the purest concentrated sadness.

What about the wedding night?


	5. Interlude - We Do Not Hodor

**No! This is _not_ a filler chapter? Where the fucking hell did you get that idea from?**

* * *

Cersei ran her thin fingers through Jaime's glorious blond hair, but it wasn't in the context he would have wanted, in fact, it was pretty much in the worst possible context he could imagine.

"You keep it such a mess, Jaime, however am I meant to knot this rat's nest into pretty braids in time for the wedding in four hours?" she muttered sadly, picking up a brush and attempting to move his locks into an agreeable position.

They were in Cersei's dressing room. Well, for today, at least, it was Jaime's dressing room as his sister primped him for the wedding. He sat in a chair before a great mirror staring back at his forlorn image. At least he was wearing his golden armour. No one could ever take that away from him. Cersei stood behind his chair, acting the stylist. How Jaime wished he could take her, kiss her one last time, make sweet, twincestral love to her against one of the couches, but it seemed destined not to be.

"Cersei," he whimpered, "I don't want to marry Hodor."

She just put on a smile behind him and reached for a hair tie, doing back the first of his pretty little braids.

"Just nervous before the wedding. Having doubts. Gods, you are lucky. You know that I never loved Robert before I married him."

"No! It isn't like that! I'm not a nervous bride, or a torn lover, or anything romantic at all! I just hate Hodor with every fibre of my being! He's a peasant! A servant! He isn't a Lannister, don't you understand? Tywin has gone mad! Something must have happened to him when he went to Winterfell. Hodor has something wrong with his mind. Haven't you noticed how talkative he is? All he says is 'Hodor'! He's a brute, one that can never me married to the Lion of Casterly Rock. He tried to rape me, for the gods' sake! I hate him, I hate him, I hate him-"

Cersei placed her hands tenderly on Jaime's shoulders, calming him from his rage. He placed a nervous palm against hers. This might well be the last chance they had to be so close.

"Jaime, Jaime, _darling_. Don't worry yourself," she sniffed, "everything is going to work out wonderfully for you. Your love for Hodor won't be thought of as rape, you two will be married. It makes sex legal! A man has every right to take his lover, you should know that."

"You don't understand! He tried to rape me months ago!"

She put her finger to his lips.

"Ssssh. Just enjoy the day. I've seen the Hall." she whispered "Father truly has prepared an event of splendour for you. The whole court of the king is here. Everyone will witness the joining of Hodor and Jaime Lannister, the Baratheons, the Greyjoys," Jaime gagged, "the Tullies," Jaime spluttered, "the Tyrells, who are very excited," Jaime had to bite down on his tongue to stop the vomit from coming out of his mouth, "even some of the Starks are here." she finished.

Fuck it, Jaime couldn't hold it in any more. He leaned over to the side of the dresser and threw up a neat pile of vomit to the side of it. To his surprise, it had little flecks of gold inside of it. Probably wearing the armour had some unhealthy side effects.

"This," he heaved, mouth tasting of the sickly bile, "isn't even _canon_! Why is it happening to me! Please Cersei! I beg you to make it stop!"

Cersei looked down at the pile of vomit as if it were a newborn child, one of the most beautiful things she'd ever seen.

"Jaime Lannister," she said, happily, "I have been to countless weddings, comforted scores of doubtful brides, smoothed over dozens of unhappy arranged marriages. But I can honestly say that _never_ has a single one of them been as passionate as you! It's simply adorable!"

"I'm the Kingslayer! How dare you call me adorable!"

She reached down and pinched his cheek affectionately.

"Because you are!" she squealed. Jaime let out an exasperated groan. "Don't get huffy now! We still need to do your makeup, and don't have much longer left." she looked him up and down judgementally "and are you _honestly _going to wear that old armour to your wedding? I know you're required to wear it and everything, but you show it off so much it's a bit underwhelming."

A silent, solitary, bittersweet tear ran down the side of Jaime's pale cheek. This was to be the worst day of his entire life.

"My armour..." he managed to say, "underwhelming?"

"Well, every member of the Kingsguard wears it. So there will be others wearing it today! You can't go into your own wedding wearing the same outfit as everyone else!" she fixed down another braid to Jaime's hair, he really was starting to look like the princess ready to be rescued by her true love. But he didn't think about comparing himself to a dainty, helpless little virgin in a tower, because realisation was sweeping over him like Hodor surging though a supply cupboard. He forgot everything around him, and focused his entire mind on one, happy glimmer of hope that Cersei had just reminded him of.

"Cersei," he breathed, hardly able to speak for the emotion raining through his weathered voice.

"Jaime?"

"I'm a knight of the Kingsguard." he stated.

Cersei got out some pretty flower clips and slid them in between the braids, "I know you are. We're all very proud and all that, but today is your big day! Don't think about your duty to Robert or to King's Landing!"

"No, Cersei. I'm a knight of the Kingsguard," it took him a lot of self restraint to keep himself from punching the air and possibly destroying Cersei's hard work in the process, "and the knights of the Kingsguard cannot marry."

Cersei dropped her hairbrush and the thing clattered to the floor with what seemed like a resounding crash in the middle of the dread silence. She stepped back from the chair, backing towards the wardrobe on the far wall, looking as if she had seen a white walker.

"By the gods" she exclaimed "you're right. Why did no one think of this before? Robert certainly didn't seem against you two tyibg the knot when we discussed it. It just hadn't occurred to us." she rushed back towards him, and turned his head carefully around, so that they were facing eye to eye, "Jaime. You mustn't tell a soul. No one can know about this if the wedding is to proceed. It might make the binding void. It would prevent you from _ever_ marrying Hodor. Think of how disappointed you and Tywin would be." she patted him on the shoulders supportively "we're Lannisters. We're good at keeping secrets. Just look at how Joff turned out. We can cover this up. I'll talk to Tyrion about it, see if we can't come up with a scheme."

"But Cersei, you and I always used to scheme together! Why can't we do it again?"

"No more scheming for you, Ser Lannister!" Cersei scolded "you're soon to be a married man! We can't have you putting your reputation at stake by joining in with our little cons. Now, let's see if I can't find you any perfume around here..." she rifled through the many cosmetics that were lain about the table,"you're going to look so pretty when I'm done with you, Jaime!"

When she was done with him, he looked like a whore even cheaper than those offered in the _Place for a Really Nice Fuck_. Cersei had made his hair all but stick up straight in braids from his head, like a wilding. He had pink lipstick on his puckered mouth, green eyeliner and extended eyelashes made from some substance Jaime doubted even the maesters would be able to identify. There was some glitter on his cheek and a pink streak of something through his hair, not even mentioning the flowers that were tucked into every available space they could clip onto. His breastplate was adorned with them, shining as ever, but increasingly rosy.

He must have looked like he'd ran into a sort of accident with an insane four year old girl's dress up box, especially with the neon red feather boa that Cersei strung about his shoulders now.

But he smiled, through all of it, because none of that mattered.

Because now he had a way, one vital law that stopped him from marrying Hodor.

Jaime had never been so pleased to be a Kingsguard, not even on the day they had given him his armour.


	6. Hodor is Coming

**Jaime's middle name is 'Awesomeballs'. Don't doubt me! I read it on the wiki. His full name is Jaime Awesomeballs Lannister.**

**It is known.**

* * *

Jaime wasn't in Kansas any more.

He stood before scores of guests, all marvelling at the glorious wedding the Lannisters had set up for him. It was an event for the ages, for history, for some sort of goddamn song. In fact, he was fairly certain Tyrion had hired a singer to document the very occasion. Jaime hoped that they would come up with a song similar to '_The Rains of Castamere_' one that warned the world not to try and marry a Lannister.

There were dozens of guests from all across the seven kingdoms that had arrived throughout the week. A ridiculous amount of guests, as if Cersei had simply taken every contact in her email and sent the wedding invite out to everyone she knew. The bloody Facebook group for 'Jaime and Hodor's Wedding xx' had five hundred confirmed guests as of last night, and Jaime was pretty sure that most of the noble lords didn't even use Facebook.

As he stood outside the door to the colossal hallway, Balon Greyjoy slipped inside the door as a latecomer. Definitely more of a MySpace user.

Everyone who was anyone in Westeros would be attending today. The oaf king who was allowed to legitimately shove his dick into Cersei, the 'honour to the point of stupidity' Starks, even the Tyrells were here, and Jaime had been a little disconcerted when Loras had smiled at him so sypathetically. As if he were a brother, or close friend. Even Renly was here, and had offered Jaime on a position on something called _'The Rainbow Guard_'. Jaime wasn't sure if he was sincere about getting him to join up, or if he were trying to snarkily insult him in some way.

But the worst part about today was that he had to walk up to the altar with Hodor. HODOR! He would rather marry a monster such as... for example... Brienne of Tarth? No, probably not. That wench was absolutely, despicably vile. And why would he pick her as an example? He could have chosen Lollys, or Sandor Clegane, or-

Focus, Jaime, focus! Today he had to be convincing! If he didn't manage to persuade the crowd that, as a Kingsguard, he shouldn't be marrying, then his life would be ruined. Since Jaime had not, unfortunately, read all the ASOIAF series from cover to cover (he was currently right bang in the middle of Storm of Swords, to be precise, and wasn't feeling too happy about the things they were saying to do with his arm) he wasn't sure about the customs on Seven Kingdoms weddings, but he was pretty sure there ought to be a _'speak now or forever hold your peace_' part, which would be an opportune time for him to point out the vows he'd taken for King Robert.

He should just pray that King Robert wasn't drunk, or stoned on Milk Of The Poppy. Then anything could happen. Perhaps he could strike up some deal with Varys before the night was done, get him to poison Hodor before he forced Jaime back to his bedchambers.

But no, it wouldn't come to that. Jaime smiled. It was good to be a Kingsguard. Now he was wearing the shining armour proudly, albeit with a strange tutu placed on top. Cersei had shoved the strange pink clothing article on him ten minutes ago, and he felt it complemented the gleaming gold of his armour well. Pink was certainly a fearsome colour. After all, it was the colour of slapped cheeks and drying blood; bloodshot eyes and raw flesh. This pink might make a nice change from all the crimson the Lannisters usually donned.

He waited outside the dining hall, eagerly tapping his feet against the cobbles. Tywin waited beside him in silence, although he was grinning like a fool. The chorus of voices inside was mounting, and every lord, lady, wench and hedge knight in the Seven Kingdoms was anticipating Jaime Lannister's wedding. Because, let's face it, he's the hottest guy on the entire show, and HBO really could have gotten us some better eye candy to stare at for hours on end, but they didn't. Loras Tyrell might have been, average in his looks, Robb Stark would be... unavailable for marriage as of the start of Storm of Swords, that made Jaime the most eligible bachelor in all Westeros, and the sexiest man alive!

Then why did he feel so much like a frightened little pussy?

Slowly, Jaime realised that he was standing _outside_ of the hall, ready to be walked down the aisle, by none other than his father.

Did that mean he was the _bride_?

"I'm so proud of you, son," Tywin cracked up, tears streaming down his wrinkled cheeks. "You're finally a woman grown. Hodor will take your maidenhood tonight." He blubbered.

"You do know I am both a man, and I have slept with my sister and numerous whores _multiple_ time, before I was even ten years-"

"YOUR MAIDENHOOD, Jaime!" Tywin shouted "Oh, it is a beautiful thing. Soon you two will be blessed with child and there will be little lions scampering about the Rock in no time!"

For what seemed like the thousandth time, Jaime wanted to ask which one of them was physically supposed to _have_ the children, when the hall door creaked open a few feet.

Gregor Clegane poked his face around, though Jaime wasn't sure why it was him making the announcement. His eyes were puffy, wet and pink, and his voice cracked as he spoke.

"It's time!" he cried "Everything is ready!"

"What's wrong with you?" Jaime asked, noting the Mountain's state of emotional decay.

"I always cry at weddings!" the Mountain exclaimed, before popping back behind the door and slamming it closed. Jaime heard him cry for silence throughout the hall, regaining a lot of his composure as he spoke. "QUIET! QUIET! THE WEDDING IS ABOUT TO START! SHUT THE SEVEN HELLS UP SO WE CAN WITNESS THIS MAJESTIC, DIVINE, BEAUTIFUL, WONDERFUL EVENT!" he bellowed.

Tywin grabbed him by the shoulders one more time before the doors swung open. "I love you, my boy. Never thought the day would come I would walk you through this hall. Thought you would be an old maid at the end of your days. But here we are. Please your husband, and Roar for him in the way a lion must always Roar." He said, before taking Jaime by the arm as the cast iron doors were flung wide to reveal the largest hall in Casterly Rock, packed with every noble in Westeros.

"That must be the must disturbing pre-wedding speech I've ever heard." Jaime muttered to himself. Tywin had said much the same spthings out Roaring to Cersei before her wedding, but it had seemed a hundred times more pleasant in that context.

Though the guests had quietened down after the Mountain's orders, they were doing all they could to stop themselves from whispering as Tywin began to lead Jaime in a strut down the aisle, red carpet beneath their feet.

There were rows and rows of seats all set out, facing the front of the hall, where septons and priests galore had congregated. Representatives of all the major houses were here, and other houses that Jaime could only remember the names of if he looked at the index in the back of the book.

The two Arryns glared down at him first from the back row seats, Lysa looking like some witch from a children's tale. No doubt she was jealous of the luscious tutu Jaime got to wear.

Next they passed the Greyjoys, many of who, oddly enough, were wearing diving gear and speedos. Jaime had never seen them in anything but armour, so he presumed it was traditional iron islander dress. Although he wondered where they'd '_paid the iron price_' for swimsuits so small. Theon Greyjoy gave him a curt nod, and Jaime, despite the gravity of the whole I-would-have-to-actually-marry-Hodor-if-I-wasn't-a-Kingsguard situation, couldn't help but cringe. If Theon Greyjoy did NOT get that annoying ass mole removed from his face, Jaime felt as if he might have to go and barbecue some children to let off the rage.

A couple Tullys were here, and the Blackfish was wearing his best golden dollar sign on a chain. But Catelyn sat with the Starks, who were just ahead. Jaime was pleased to see that they hadn't brought their bastard along, so it didn't make this wedding seem completely ridiculous. At least the deranged author who wrote it was following the manners and customs of Westeros to some degree, and had the common sense not to invite a baseborn bastard to a Lannister wedding. That meant the wedding wasn't just some excuse to gather all of the characters together. Despite George RR Martin's best attempts, Sansa Stark was not actually looking pretty today, as the books described. In fact, all the Starks seemed a little out of it. Robb was picking at his nails, Rickon was startling at the loud noises coming from the band, Catelyn was glaring at Tyrion on the front row for some incomprehensible reason, Eddard had a face grim as the stone statues in his crypt, while Bran- where was Bran?

Jaime found his head tilting upwards and looking at the chandelier that hung above all their heads. As he'd suspected, Bran Stark clung to it like a grotesque little monkey, the boy always had liked climbing. _Enjoy your legs while you can_, Jaime thought.

Second to the front were the Tyrells, and Renly sat next to Loras. They were both wearing purple crop tops with words painted on them. Loras' shirt said 'PRIDE' in green lettering, while Renly's simply said 'BAM!'. Both of them were very high cut, and you could see their navels and stomachs beneath. Strange fashion statement to make.

While on the foremost row was the king, wide eyed and eager to witness the wedding, nearly taking up an entire bench with his girth and squashing Cersei besides. The rest of the Lannisters were crowded around him, with a few benches taken up by Jaime's cousins either side. Joffrey was there, but Jaime was pleased to see that someone had had the foresight to bound and gag him so he couldn't move nor utter a single word. Tyrion urged Jaime on through the aisle, as did his darling Cersei, though their eyes met for one bittersweet moment. They were the last row of benches, Jaime and Tywin had walked through the entire hall. That meant that the wedding was soon to come, and there was only one man they hadn't passed by yet. Jaime looked up, dead ahead of him.

Hodor was there, wearing the most ill fitting, shrunken, repulsive, pin-striped tuxedo in the entire realm. He was grinning wider than Jaime had ever seen him grin, and Hodor had done some pretty serious grinning in his time. His hands were clasped behind his back, and he rocked back and forward in anticipation. Jaime pictured him rocking back and forth above him while they were on a bed, for one sick second, but breathed a sigh of relief when he remembered the Kingsguard vows he'd taken when he was sixteen. The high septon stood behind Hodor with a massive bloody book open in a pedestal, ready to give the service before the most witnesses Tywin could have possibly invited.

Tywin let him go with one final sob, and retracted his arm from Jaime's before squeezing onto the end of the bench with Cersei. Jaime took a few tentative steps forward before he was at Hodor's side - at least he didn't have to do this thing in high heels.

When he was within range, Hodor pulled him forward with both hands, and held on, forcing them to gaze into each other's eyes throughout the service.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," the High Septon droned, "we are gathered here today, to witness the joining of two lovers in..."

He continued onward in this manner, but Jaime wasn't listening. He'd seen enough wedding episodes of drama TV and sitcoms to know how this would play out. He only had to wait for the '_speak now or forever hold your peace part_'. That always came. He was so glad that Westeros weddings were exactly like real ones, with no difference despite the complete reversal of culture. He saw several weeping faces across the crowd, and not just the weak hearted women. Stainnis might have been bawling, from what he could see from here. Everyone was utterly enthralled.

"Now the couple have informed me that they have written their own vows," the High Septon continued, "Ser Hodor, would you please?"

Hodor pulled out a piece of paper from inside his tuxedo pocket, cleared his throat, and began to read:

"Hodor. Hodor Hodor, Hodor Hodor-Hodor Hodor. Hodor Hodor Hodor-Hodor Hodor Hodor-Hodor Hodor! Hodor? Hodor: Hodor '_Hodor Hodor Hodor Hodor_' Hodor-Hodor Hodor." he placed Jaime's hand gently against his scabby cheek. "Hodor..." he whispered.

The entire hall burst into tumultuous applause for a short burst before the High Septon gestured for silence.

"And you, Ser Jaime?" he asked. Jaime was panicking.

"I didn't- Have you mentioned the '_speak now or forever hold your peace_' part of the service yet?" Jaime hushed to the High Septon, hopefully low enough that the hall wouldn't hear him.

"I haven't," the High Septon confirmed, "that part comes later."

Whoever organised the layout of these weddings, Jaime would give them a red smile.

"So I have to give a speech?" Jaime asked quickly.

The High Septon indicated the entire hall, waiting for him. "I'm afraid you must."

Jaime had no idea what in Seven Hells to say. He hadn't written a speech, no one had told him about this part of the wedding. Usually, you were supposed to say what came to the heart, but how could Jaime improvise something like this without sounding wildly sarcastic. He _always_ sounded wildly sarcastic, even during the most grave of situations. He was reckless, impatient, temperamental, and hadn't a clue what to do for improvisation.

He considered saying something along the lines of: '_No vows I might write would be worthy of this day_,' and attempting to continue from there, but he wasn't sure if he could sell it. He was so worried, stressed, panicked! One thing was clear, however; he had to say something fast, or his reputation throughout all Westeros would suffer! Anyone who was anyone was at this wedding, and they were all waiting for his words. An awkward silence covered the room, and Jaime could swear he heard crickets chirping.

Suddenly, a stroke of brilliance struck Jaime and he begun to smile himself like the wicked Stranger. "Thank you, Crone, for this blessing of inspiration," he muttered to himself, before looking back up into Hodor's eyes. The speech would be short and sweet. They'd loved Hodor's speech, well, they would love his. He sincerely started speaking his vows:

"Jaime, Jaime-Jaime Jaime. Jaime. Jaime Jaime (Jaime Jaime), Jaime Jaime-Jaime Jaime! Jaime, Jaime-Jaime! Jaime-Jaime? Jaime, Jaime/Jaime, Jaime-Jaime." He took Hodor's hand to his own cheek, unpleasant and sticky as it was, in the same way the giant had done a minute ago, "Jaime..." he finally finished.

The quantity of applause this time around was simply deafening. Everyone in the hall cheered and whooped for Jaime Lannister louder than they had at any tourney he'd visited. Right now, the attention of all Westeros was on him.

And dayumn, did it feel good. Jaime had always like people cheering for him.

"That's my boy!" Tywin shouted joyfully, boasting his son to Kevan sitting next to him.

"Go get him, lass!" he heard Robert Baratheon bellowing from the front row. It jarred him horribly back to reality.

Now he was pressed right up against Hodor, hand in hand, closer than he'd ever wished to be. Gods, he didn't think he'd ever stood this close to Cersei without it ending in a nice bout of sex afterwards.

"Hodor," Hodor said over the sound of the crowd, so only Jaime could hear. He said it very lustily as well, the way a whore might tempt her services in an alleyway. Hodor was a dirty boy indeed, Jaime hated it.

He also hated the colossal giant-boner that was pressed up tit around his waist. There weren't a lot of things in his life he hated more.

The High Septon stormed on with the service when the guests quieted down, which took several minutes. Jaime started to feel somewhat happy. He'd avoided embarrassment in front of everyone he knew, and in a few minutes he would be free from his engagement from Hodor. Even if Tywin and 'Joanna' were utterly insane, they couldn't go against the vows a Kingsguard had taken, especially with Robert Baratheon sitting on the bench next to them. He caught a few glimpses of the other members of the Kingsguard, standing around at the edges of the hall, vigilant as always. If Hodor tried to fling him onto the ground and turn this into a Dothraki-themed wedding where the khal took and raped his bride in front of everyone present, at least the Kingsguard might be able to stop him.

The High Septon mentioned some rubbish about being faithful to one another throughout all time, siring many children, and eternal love, which Hodor's lively manhood seemed to appreciate very much. Finally it turned around, And Jaime's ears perked up with it.

"Do you, Hodor Hodor-Hodor Lannister, take Jaime Lannister to be your lawfully wedded partner?" the High Septon asked.

"Hodor," Hodor replied instantly.

"Very well. Do you, Jaime Awesomeballs Lannister, take Hodor Lannister to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"Umm-"

"Under my holy authority, these two persons present come now to be joined. If any person can show just cause why they may not be joined together - let them speak now or forever hold their-"

"_I have something to say_!" Jaime blurted out. Silence.

Minutes passed. Hours, days. Who knew how long Jaime stood up there, horrified faces of Westeros peering at him. A couple of Greyjoys did the awkward turtle on the furthest rows.

"Son!" Tywin finally called up to him, "Jaime, if you're going to declare your love for Hodor, do it _after the wedding_."

"No, Father, I have an important matter to raise to your attention!" he called out to the whole hall, swivelling round so he could face everyone, and escape Hodor's uncomfortable boner all the while. His armour shone with the sun pouring in from the window, and he happily sung out the words that would stop him from marrying Hodor. "Years ago, back in the time of Aerys Targaryen, I swore a vow. I became a member of the honoured Kingsguard, and now I serve Robert Baratheon with my life. When I took that oath I swore, as all men of the Kingsguard do, to forfeit my lands, give my life to the king, and _never to marry_! Never will I go back on that oath. As much as it pains me to have to reject dear Hodor at the altar," he turned his head to look at Hodor for a second and could see unforgiving tears rolling down his plump cheeks, "A Lannister always pays his debts, and my life is in debt to the King!" He gestured towards Robert Baratheon, and all eyes moved to the fat king of the Seven Kingdoms. Babies wailed in the background. Ladies shed graceful tears into their handkerchiefs. Jaime made some quick eye-contact with Cersei for a brief moment, and found she was the only one in the hall with a smile on her face. So she truly didn't want him to marry Hodor today, despite all she'd said. Jaime beamed back at her. He wondered if he would get laid tonight.

The room seemed to be waiting for someone other than Jaime to speak, and Robert Baratheon seemed ready enough. The oaf raised a chicken drumstick into the air like a sceptre, Gods only knowing where it had come from. He waved it back and forth like a proud banner or his resolute warhammer.

"Nah," he decreed, dismissing Jaime's dreams with a meaty wave "I'll let this marriage go unpunished just for once. Don't be expecting me to turn a blind eye again though." With that he dug right back into gnawing away at the chicken.

The High Septon nodded.

"Shall we continue?"

"NO!" Jaime yelled by reflex.

"By the power vested in me, as High Septon, I now pronounce you, husband and wife! May you be satisfied until the end of your days."

Jaime was panicking. He had to run. Even in front of all these people, if he ran, he might get away, might make the marriage void! How could Robert Baratheon _do_ this to him! It was against the law on so many levels. Was it too late? Had Jaime Lannister no chance of a life left?

"You may now kiss one another!" the High Septon proclaimed. Jaime's life was certainly over. He decided running was the best course of action, but as soon as he tried to scamper away, Hodor caught him by the arm and pulled him into an enormous, slobbery kiss.

His invasive tongue made its way past Jaime's protesting lips, past his gritted teeth, and met with Jaime's in a big, messy, furry supernova.

Jaime, as a member of nobility, had not tasted a lot of unpleasant things. He'd always had fine food cooked for him by expert chefs, and had the expert chefs executed if they weren't good enough. Cersei's tongue had been pleasant enough in its day, it tastes practically just like his. They were twins after all.

Tasting Hodor's tongue felt like licking the asshole of a walrus. Was probably a lot less sanitary, too.

Happy helps of delight rose from the crowd, and the disgusting kiss met with a standing ovation from all present.

Westeros had seen Jaime Lannister marry Hodor. There was no way to back out of it now.

Now all that was left was to consummate the marriage. Gods, was Jaime looking _forward_ to that.

* * *

"And then, -you won't believe this, everyone- Hodor comes bursting into the door, throws Timett straight down onto the floor, and whisks Jaime up off the ground safe into his arms like a princess." Littlefinger finished. Many cheery laughs broke up from the crowd as Baelish finished recounting the amusing story of the time Timett had tried to rape Jaime. He left the part out, of course, that he'd sold Jaime for only a measly stag or two. He didn't even mention that this had happened in one of his own brothels at all!

All the guests had been transferred into the Lannister mead hall and were finishing a feast dinner worthy of dragons. There was enough food there to feed every starving peasant in King's Landing. Now the nobles were all arranged throughout the colossal hall, laughing and recounting speeches and memories about the happy couple.

"A toast! To the heir to Casterly Rock, and his wife!" Littlefinger proclaimed, holding his cup high in the air, "I never thought anyone could tie the rugged Kingslayer down! May you sire many children!" he took a sip from his goblet, as did everyone in the hall. All became slightly drunker.

What was all of this talk about siring children? Jaime had heard it come up so many times, it really chilled him to the bone! He wondered how many children Hodor would try to sire tonight, as the great giant kept his arm continuously around Jaime's shoulder as they sat at the high table, and wouldn't let go for all the gold in Lannisport. Which, coincidentally, he now owned.

Robert Baratheon had already consumed barrels upon barrels of mead and was heckling the Lannister singers over in the corner, asking them to play something other than '_The Rains of Castamere_'. Of course the Kingsguard had to deal with him, as no one could disrupt the sacred torrent of song.

Jaime was miserable. Miserable as a man could be. He knew of arranged weddings, he knew how they could ruin your life. He'd felt so sorry for Cersei when she was sold off to Robert, but wasn't able to fully understand how completely dire the situation was. Hodor was the most disgusting, stupid, dull minded man in the Kingdoms, and now he had a legal right -if not an obligation- to fuck Jaime sideways until they were both exhausted. Now he knew how Cersei had felt when she married Robert. He gazed enviously at Tyrion, whose whores needed a separate table at the back of the room all to themselves, there were so many of them.

Now Ned Stark was standing on his feet and the room looked at him, all wavering back and forth from the drink. Jaime hadn't drunk a sip, he knew his senses had to be at maximum if he was to be able to avoid Hodor tonight. He might be able to dart away, pull another stunt like jumping out of the window if he had to. Unfortunately, he believed that Hodor had picked up on what he was doing, as the giant hadn't drunk anything either.

"I remember," Ned Stark started up, drunk as his friend Robert "when dear Joanna told all my children stories. When she filled their lives with wonder, raised them with the magical imagination every child should have. She told them of wildlings, witches, forests, princes and dragons." Stark swayed back and forth precariously. "Now we will have a story to tell about the Lannister found in the Stark stables. It will be a romantic comedy, with the happy ending of a wedding. George Clooney can play Hodor, while Jaime will be filled by the role of-"

Catelyn hurriedly pulled him back down onto the bench before he could embarrass himself any further. No one was sober enough to care, and they all drank along with the end of the speech just as readily.

Tywin, directly on Jaime's left on the high table, raised a hand. "Please, my honoured guests, the dessert will be here soon, and the cheese course after that."

"Brace yourselves, CHEESE PLATTERS ARE COMING!" Ned Stark shouted from somewhere down in the hall. Robert Baratheon chuckled along with him.

"Prepare your drinking flagons in honour of my sons," Tywin bellowed happily, "serving wenches will come along to refill them any minute!"

"Brace yourselves, FREE REFILLS ARE COMING!" Ned Stark shouted again. Robert Baratheon hissed with tumultuous laughter. It was only the fact he was king that stopped the guards from dragging them out the hall and tossing the hooligans from the Rock.

When the desserts arrived, they all looked delicious, and Jaime figured he ought to tuck into them while he could. He might have one of the worst nights in the history of Westeros ahead of him, so he might as well indulge.

Dessert was a plate of honey glazed pop-tarts mixed with eggs of the quail and powdered sugar from Quarth. Jaime marvelled at the foreign delicacy. Tywin must have had to pay many golden dragons for this valuable treat. What was more, the author certainly must have had to look up the recipe in the companion _'Feast of Ice and Fire'_ cookbook, because it was such a difficult dish to describe. Jaime wondered if Tywin bought toasters from Quarth as well, because the pop-tarts were all nicely cooked.

_A toaster is a very specific type of servant that has advanced training in small scale fires that warm food very evenly. A pop-tart is a type of tart that came from the infamous baking village of Pop, the place where Hot Pie grew up._

"No, I don't think so!" Tywin exclaimed to his son as Jaime reached for a smore flavoured pop-tart. "You don't want to be getting stitches during all the exercise you'll have tonight. You've had plenty of food already tonight, Jaime. I forbid you from eating more."

"But Hodor's eating his!" Jaime complained. Hodor had already munched through an entire ten plates of various flavours.

"Hodor is at least five times your body weight." Tywin exaggerated sincerely.

"Tywin, dear," 'Joanna' piped up from next to Tywin, "let our boy eat! He's a man grown! This is his wedding night!"

Jaime had been a man grown for over two decades. "They grow up so fast," Tywin muttered to himself, wiping down a tear.

Jaime ate his pop-tart uneasily.

After a couple score more rounds of _'Castamere_' and many more embarrassing toasts, Jaime became more and more worried. The feast was drawing to a close and _something _was going to happen afterwards. He tried to pocket one of the dinner knives as a weapon to use against Hodor, but the serving girl took it away too quickly for him to hide it. Everything died down to a close as guests fell asleep at the tables or gradually trickled away into the chambers Tywin granted them for the night. The room was filled with a few drunken louts (led mostly by Robert and Eddard), and a couple squealing children, but the majority of the hall was empty.

The after wedding party was over. Now it seemed time for the wedding night. Tywin and Joanna stood from the table, and Tywin happily moved to clap Hodor and Jaime both on the back. Hodor was almost bursting with glee, and the smile stretched further across his ugly face than Jaime had ever seen a smile.

"I give you leave to retire to your chamber, boys," Tywin said, "Have a good night. Your mother and I will see you in the morning."

Hodor barely even let Tywin finish his words before he scooped Jaime up and flung him over his back like he would a sack of flower. With inhuman speed he darted through the Lannister mead hall, Jaime bumping up and down with every step.

"I've always loved weddings," Jaime heard Varys snicker at him from a shadow in the corner.

"Fuck off, Varys!" Jaime shouted right back as Hodor neared the heavy doors.

"Can't!" the eunuch replied, "haven't got the balls for it!"

"Stop talking about your bloody lack of balls- oof!" Hodor had clumsily knocked Jaime's head against the cast iron frame of the doorway on the way out. Varys disappeared from view.

The journey up the stairs through the Rock was faster than Jaime had ever taken it. Hodor bolted at top speed, massive bounds that took four steps off the staircases at a time.

"Hodor," Hodor chanted with every step, "Hodor, Hodor, Hodor, Hodor."

Jaime should have asked one of the maesters for some milk of the poppy to get through this.

Hodor came to a skidding halt outside Jaime's bedroom door, flung the flimsy wooden barrier open, sieged inside, and threw Jaime onto his prized four poster bed. He stalked back across the room to close the door, and bolted it shut while he was there. Then like a hunting lion, he turned back around to Jaime, ripped his pink tutu off with one hand, and tore him from his golden armour in a matter of seconds. The protection he'd felt so strong before now clattered helplessly to the floor by his bedside, and there was little chance it could save him now.

There was no point in screaming. If Jaime screamed, Tywin and Joanna would just suppose they were engaging in some form of sadism, and now whatever Hodor wanted to do to him was legal. For he was Hodor's bride, and Hodor his lord husband, forever and until the end of time.

Jaime screamed anyway. He had to resist in some manner, though he knew it would be pointless. Hodor was tearing his own clothes off now, and flung them haphazardly across Jaime's room, knocking over his neat tower of stacked armour polish cans. When he ripped off his loincloth and started to surge forward in the same way he'd done in the storage cupboard, Jaime knew this was it: Hodor was Coming. In more ways than one. In the way of the Stark house motto, and also-

Damn, but Hodor's manhood was terrifyingly enormous! It chilled Jaime just to _look_ upon it, yet alone to think of him having to let it ent-

It was disgusting. Big enough to build a second Wall in the north. He truly had the blood of a giant. Pure adrenaline rushed through Jaime, urging him to flee from the room or fight off Hodor, both attempts he knew wouldn't work.

Try to imagine Cersei. That's what he'd do-

Hodor started running towards him at a sprinting speed.

"Hodor! Hodor!" he yelped happily, eyes on Jaime's crotch.

"OH NOES!" Jaime screamed at the top of his lungs, scrambling back against the bed, as far away from Hodor as he could. He saw Hodor flying through the air in a giant leap, soaring like a lion pouncing on its prey. Still smiling all the while. Hodor landed on top of him with a giant creak of the bedsprings.

And, thank the Gods, old and new, drowned and light, Jaime's head knocked against the bedposts violently as Hodor landed on him. The weight of the giant sent his body rocketing towards the wooden support, and his head hit against it hard enough that Jaime began to pass quickly into unconsciousness.

Though Jaime felt his senses fading, he knew this wouldn't stop Hodor from banging him. He was thankful that he would never remember what was to come this night, but still terrified of what it would be.

As his eyes started to flutter shut, he saw the happy Hodor closing the distance between them, their faces becoming closer and closer, Hodor's psychopath smile nearing him.

And Jaime was filled with fear as he faded into the realm of sleep and dreams, because he knew it was time for a point of view change...

* * *

Hodor Hodored on Jaime-Hodor's Hodor with Hodor Hodors and Hodor Hodor. Hodor, Hodor-Hodor while Hodor Hodor Hodors Hodor. Hodor-Hodor and Jaime-Hodor were in Hodor Hodor Hodor Hodor Hodor. Hodor-Hodor Hodors Hodored once again Hodor Hodor Hodor-Hodor Hodoring Hodor.

"HODOR!" Hodor-Hodor Hodored.

Jaime-Hodor did not Hodor. Hodor was Hodored. Hodor Hodor Hodorily Hodor Hodor Hodor with Hodor Hodor Hodor? Hodor, _Hodor_ Hodor to Hodor. Jaime-Hodor Hodor-Hodor Hodor?!

"HODOR! HODOR! HODOR!" Hodor-Hodor Hodored once more.

"HOdoR! hOdOr! HODORrrrrrrrr! _HOOOOOOODDDDDDDDOR_!" Hodor-Hodor Hodored, this time with double the strength.

"H-O-D-O-R! $HODOR$!" Hodor-Hodor Hodored.

Hodor Hodor Hodor Hodor meanwhile Hodor Hodor Hodor's Hodors Hodored. Jaime-Hodor Hodors, Hodor-Hodor Hodors.

Hodor Hodor Hodor Hodor Hodor, Hodor Hodor Hodors Hodoring Hodors. Jaime-Hodor Hodor Hodor. Tywin-Hodor Hodored.

"Hodor, Hodor. _Hodor_..." Hodor-Hodor Hodored, stroking Jaime-Hodor's Hodor Hodor Hodorly.

Hodor Hodor all through the Hodor, Hodor Hodor Hodor Hodor.

Hodor-Hodor pushed and Hodored Hodor Hodor Hodor. _Jaime-Hodor_ Hodor-Hodor Hodor.

Hodor.


End file.
